


Starfleet Ordered Bride

by Dances_With_Vulcans



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Character with social Anxieties, Depression, Even Naughtier Vulcans, F/F, F/M, Hurt Arty, I put the Rape/Non-Con as a precaution, I will forewarn on that chapter, Justice will be done in the end, M/M, Naughty Admirals, Oblivious Arty, Pon Farr, Ponn' Far, Possible Slow burn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, So much angst, There will be an incident in future chapters, This story now with corny collage art, To many ways to spell that word, Warnings May Change, cause I believe people get what they deserve, it gets better though, lol, so it could get triggery, space faring monkies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6165089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dances_With_Vulcans/pseuds/Dances_With_Vulcans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Arty Greenway wanted to do was be invisible, to disappear from hostile prying eyes. But with sneaky vulcans, conniving Admirals, and meddling crewmates, that was a hard wish to fulfill. Especially when there seemed to be some greater plot at work behind her orders. And were those wedding gongs echoing in the distance? What's a girl gatta do to disappear!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: This is How Conspiracies Are Born

 

 ** _Stardate 2259.24_** _San Francisco, The Vulcan Embassy_

 _"I_ shall not return to New Vulcan."

Those words echoed across the cutting silence. A simple statement. Yet one that troubled Lady T'Pau as she stared at the tele-com nestled into the wall of the private study she occupied; her face never betrayed her concern though.

T'Pau recalled the male filling the view screen before her, while stubborn in his youth, having an intelligence that far outshined his peers. So it was perplexing to her, how Spock brushed off the the gravity of the situation so casually. While it was not the most desirable of subject matters, often never spoken of, it could no longer be ignored. They were to few to do so. Which left decorum by the wayside.

"Spock," she stated, eyebrow lifting disapprovingly, "I urge you to reconsidered your actions. While your duty to Starfleet is noteworthy you must take into consideration your health as the only other heir to the house of Surak. More males are falling unto the throes of pon'farrsome even young as fourteen. Our scientists have theorized this is a biological reaction to the destruction of our homeworld and our near extinction. You must return. The situation is dire. If you do not embark soon the viable candidates with whom I have acquired for you may be taken by others in similar circumstance. You must make a claim known."

A slight flush of green splayed upon the First Officers cheeks, the only sign to his obvious discomfort toward the conversation. It was to be expected. Their discussion should have been one between father and son, but Sarek was predisposed. Seeking the help of a healer as opposed to taking up another bondmate so soon after the death of his previous one. A sentiment, while understandable, was entirely foolish. Should the healer fail, the option exhausted, there was a high probability a suitable mate would no longer be available. The chances of Sarek succeeding were 22.395%. Which was why Spock's return was so important.

"It would be illogical for me to do so," he spoke, inclining his head in apology, "As it is, there are few viable females left thus my sterility would only hinder our repopulation efforts; appropriating a possible mate away from a virile male. I would best serve the Vulcan people by continuing my commission upon the _Enterprise_ ; strengthening the Federation with new alliances, resources and scientific advancements. Furthermore, with my mixed heritage, it is highly unlikely I would experience the blood fever. Lady T'Pau, ko'mekh-il {grandmother}, while I appreciate your diligence and care for my personal well being I propose we discuss this topic no further. It would prove a futile endeavor to change my decision. Kadith{What is is}. I will not leave Starfleet."

The elder Vulcan raised her eyebrow. "I see. Then as I cannot change your mind I will bid thee farewell. Live long and prosper," she stated, lifting her hand up in taal—middle finger and ring finger separating the others into a V. Spock stoically returned the gesture, "Peace and long life."

The transmission abruptly cut off with the prompt ending. It was clear she had upset her grandson, from the length of his rebuttal he had gone on the defensive, but she didn't dwell upon that. After all, if she could not bring him back to Vulcan to procure a Bondmate then she would have to look toward other avenues to ensure his future. T'Pau would never say so out loud, but she cared deeply for each of her family members. Especially with many perishing on Vulcan. It was that very knowledge that would spur her to any means necessary to ensure Spocks survival. Even if she had to go through an unlikely outside source.

While Spock's argument had been strong, and she could see the logic of not taking a fertile female from another, he had given her a different alternative. Another option without even realizing it. If he wouldn't leave Starfleet to bond then she would find him a match within the confines of the organization itself. Though the thought of a non-Vulcan mate unsettled T'Pau she would have to do what was logical. Her own preferences mattered not.

Straightening her posture to appear more imposing, as she was fully aware of how others viewed her, she folded her arms neatly behind her. It was time to call in a few favors. "Computer, call Grand Admiral Archer."

The black screen beeped, signaling it's compliance to her request. 80.2 seconds later an angry wrinkled face appeared. "Who the hell is calling me at-," a disheveled Archer sputtered grouchily before his eyes focused on the woman before him. Instantly the cantankerous old man froze, face paling, before he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Apologies Lady T'Pau. I didn't know it was- _ahem_ -what can Starfleet do for you at this hour."

She cocked an eyebrow toward his blatant display of emotions. Humans, with all their idiosyncrasies, were such strange brash creatures. It never failed to astound and irritate her with the variety of intimate feelings they chose to broadcast so blatantly. "I shall be to the point as I have interrupted your sleep cycle. I wish to, I believe the appropriate human idiom is, _cash in a favor_. Two, precisely."

Archer eyed her warily, his gut told him there was an ulterior motive that he probably wasn't going to like. However if she was personally asking for help it would be important. She had never done so before and to be honest not only Starfleet but the Federation owed her a debt. Quite a few actually. On more than one occasion she had helped alleviate tense situations within the Federation, averting a few inter-species disasters and catastrophic meltdowns. Honestly, the Admiral thought the only reason everyone was so amendable to change their minds was because there were scared shitless of the tiny emotionless woman. No one said no to her, Archer included himself on that list. Thus he acquiesced. "Alright, what am I going to have to do?"

"I need access to some of your personnel files. More specifically the cerebral patterns, mapping, and wavelengths documented during esper readings upon Academy admittance."

"Well," the Admiral frowned, "that would be a little difficult seeing as they're confidential. Now I'm sure you wouldn't be doing anything deplorable with them, but that's private information on a large scale. If I were to send them to you over the deep space communications they could be intercepted and fall into the wrong hands. I'm really-"

"I do not require the files be sent," T'Pau hastily interjected, "Only access. Currently I am residing within the Vulcan embassy on Earth and shall be returning to New Vulcan tomorrow at nine hundred hours. What I require of the files takes time, thus it can not be waste with explanation."

"Alright. Alright. Don't get upset," Archer apologized, hands placed before him in surrender. He realized, as she slightly cocked her head to the side, that she was about to correct his statement. Why Vulcan's insisted they had no emotions was beyond him.

"Vulcans do not get upset."

"Of course. But if you're so pressed on time why don't you tell me what you're after and I can do it for you," Archer reasoned. It was a logical compromise, one T'Pau was reluctant to take, but one she might have to. "It is of a sensitive nature. One not spoken of to outsiders. It would best be handled by myself. My request is not unreasonable."

Blue eyes widened marginally at a phrase spoken, it niggled at the back of old memories for attention. He had heard it before once, a long time ago. During his prime as a Captain. Taking into account her shifty attitude and avoidance of the topic Archer decided to take an embarrassing shot in the dark. "Are you talking about pon'farr?"

The elder stilled at the mention, confirming his assumption. Well, that made things awkward. The woman narrowed her eyes so slightly, one would mistake it never taking place. "How is it you are aware of the affliction?"

"You forget, my first officer was Vulcan. It came up during a mission. Don’t blame her though, she wasn't at fault."

"I see," T'Pau stated, recalculating her approach. His knowledge, though troubling, could be advantageous. He would know why the information she sought would be important. Thus giving her a greater chance of compliance, more so toward the last endeavor.

"Then I shall send a Vulcan Science Academy algorithm to your personal PADD. Upload the program, initiate it, then access Commander Spock's file. It will take approximately 3.87 hours to finish where hence a new folder shall appear on your desktop. I will need to review the files catalogued inside, as well as service and academic records for each individual."

"Right," he commented moving off screen to grab the aforementioned device, "and what exactly do you need these for? How will this help with th-the _problem_."

T'Pau twitched, controlling the urge to shift uncomfortably. Humans with their lack of propriety. Not wishing to state more than was necessary she opted for a short answer. "Mental compatibility."

"Alright," the man shifted back onto the screen once more, PADD in hand, "You going to explain what that has to do with pon'farr and my commander?"

Silence. Clearly the Vulcan wasn't going to divulge anything more. Something to be expected. They were a tightlipped lot. It was like pulling teeth to get them to even give a simple yes or no on occasion. Something that always annoyed Archer when he was Captain. Always with the secrets. Secrets have a way of causing more problems than fixing them. "So...not going to elaborate I see. Alright, what’s the other favor you required since by my count that’s only one."

"After all matches have been calculated I would like to have the three highest candidates transfered permanently to the enterprise till further notice. I shall meet with you at your office in 3.86 hours, to review the canidates. Till then Admiral,” T'Pau nodded, ending the call as not to prolong it with questions. Satisfied with her results she decided to retire for a short meditation on the days events; where as to gain more clarity and ease her weary mind.

As Lady T'Pau set off to do just that a shocked, slightly curmudgeon, Archer stared at his blank view screen. He grumbled under his breath about how they were Starfleet, not a damn match making service, before shuffling off to change out of his sleepwear. There’d be no falling asleep now. Ahh, the perks of being Grand Admiral.

Throwing the PADD out of his hand to the rumpled bedspread, the program began streaming through data, then pinged as files started to move into a temporary folder. Archer paused mid-stride to glance back at the item, feeling slightly guilty. It was highly unethical, necessary, but unethical. 

With Vulcans so few now even one death could send shockwaves through a universal community still grieving from the previous senseless loss. If it were ever to be learned that Starfleet could have prevented said singular death the public out cry could possibly destroy them. Not to mention the political aspects of the whole thing.

 Vulcans were Earths strongest, not to mention oldest, allies. If they were kept _"happy"_ everyone else was happy, which in turn left him happy as he wouldn't have to deal with whiney world leaders. It also facilitated shared technology for the Fleet by way of the Vulcan Science Academy. And no one loved new tech like Starfleet bureaucracy. But who ever ended up chosen, who ever became bonded to the hybrid, would have to endure a drastically different lifestyle. Which was fine for a Vulcan, who was from that constrained cultural background, but to a federation citizen, especially an earth citizen, well, Archer was already expecting some future resistance. Thus, the guilt was forming from the foreknowledge of having to crush any attempt to fight any bonding laws.

The admiral shook his head wistfully, "Poor kid."

 

* * *

 

 ** _Stardate 2259.25_** _San Francisco, The Daystrom Building_

 **_A_** _ctions unbecoming of a Superior Officer._

Ensign Artemis, or rather _"Arty"_ , Greenway stared at the reprimand for the millionth time. It'd been over a year and a half since she received the demotion and passive aggressive exile to the _Millennium Archive_ underneath Starfleet HQ. Well, everyone called it an archive, but in actuality it was where antiquated machinery and texts went to die. Basically it was one big storage room that no one ever visited. Arty was pretty sure the only other time someone else, beside herself, had been down there was when she went to relieve the previous sapyeomanwatching the place. He all but ran over her in his joy to leave. _That was a year and a half ago!_

How she ended up in the archive wasn't all her fault. It had been a pretty disastrous day. Mistakes were made and people had died as a result. Maybe that was why she never fought the stripping of her rank or the reassignment. Granted the negligence hadn't been by her hand, but as the previous Chief Engineer she was held responsible. After all, she was in-charge. All the others had just been cadets. They were green, not yet graduated, and held no experience what so ever. Even though she was only their superior by a semester, Arty had plenty of experience with ships. She'd lived on them most her life. But the horrors of that moment still remained. The survivors guilt never faded.

It started with an emergency call from Vulcan and ended when Nero's ship pierced the hull of the _Enterprise_. Her ship! At least for one thrilling moment at space dock it had been Arty's. But that breach had caused a subsequent surge, and a cadet, who she'd assigned to watch the relays, didn't catch it in time. To frozen in fear to move. It wasn't till she heard the high pitched whine of the tesla couplings that Arty realized what was about to transpire. In that last second, as a last ditch effort, she managed to reroute the power to a secondary system, saving the ship from a full shield collapse mid-battle, but it's previous path lit a half capped oxygen tank,  _that very same cadet_  ,overlooked during system inspections at dry dock. One second she was reading an engineering screen the next fire erupted in a blast all around her. It wasn't till a month an a half later she regained consciousness.

The medical team did a hell of a job fixing her up though. Not a burn or scar left. Well, physically at least. Arty would still wake up screaming, skin ablaze with phantom pains she just couldn't quite excise. Sometimes her hands would tingle with numbness that should have dissipated. Or she'd suddenly smell burning flesh and chemicals that just weren't there. It didn't matter though. When Arty woke up from her medically induced coma judgement had already been passed and sentenced. Thirty-two people had died from that explosion. Out of all of them, the cadet who froze had survived. It should have been a relief, she had tried to take most of the blow and shield him, but he had been quick to point the finger to advance his career. His testimony had been what landed her where she was. Not only had he taken credit for her quick thinking, claiming he rerouted the power and prevented a mid-shield collapse, but that Arty was to blame for what happened. That she had been the one to freeze and miss-inspect the oxygen tank. That it was her fault everyone had died as a result. To be honest he probably thought she'd never awake from the coma when he'd testified, so who was she to contradict his story. 

She had never contested the rulings. Truth be told at the time, with all the shoulda coulda woulda's floating around in her head, the guilt from living when others hadn't, Arty didn't really believe she deserved to clear her name. To set the record straight. To be some sort of _hero_ they made, newly promoted, _Lt. Winsworth_ out to be. Hell, even if she had tried to clear the air it would've just looked like she was making excuses, in effect causing her appear more guilty by default. _He who talks first is telling the truth,_ as they saw in law _._ So Arty let the notion stand. Which is what brought her back to staring at the damn report anyway. Reminding herself of why she deserved the exile. The amount of criticism and denigrating remarks were startling every time she re-read it though.

There were somedays, somedays when the silence and the boredom became to much to bear, Arty regretted her decision. Her lack of action. But there was nothing to be done. Que sera sera as they say.

With a heavy sigh, Arty closed the report on the computer. Leaning back into the ratty swivel chair she twisted languidly back and fourth in thought. The one nice thing about her predicament was the lack of formality. Here, in her junkyard kingdom, there were no requirements of proper uniform. Which was dandy as the dresses didn't make working on projects very easy. Arty remembered flashing an ensign or two when fixing a nacelle during her _junior_ chiefdom upon the USS _Reliant_. Started wearing black leggings underneath after that, but those easily ripped. However, there, in the silence, Arty was free to do as she so pleased.

If anything her current ensemble was an eclectic mash of 21st century professor meets Starfleet grease monkey. Sporting an ink stained marred tweed jacket she had found under some boxesthat may or may not have fallen on top of herin conjuncture with some large black square rimmed glasses hastily taped together in the middlethat may or may not have broken in the aforementioned incidentwith dust madden rumpled slacks and grey crooked grease stained vests, fit her personality well. And if anyone wondered why Arty wore glasses when it was an easy medical fix in that day and age, it had more to do with the eye laser than any allergy she swore up and down she had anytime the procedure was mentioned. Not that there were many people to ask about it.

Being a bit of an introvert she never was great with talking to people, which wasn't a concern she had to worry about in her exile. Didn't mean she was above being lonely though. Actually, the only reason Pike even made her his Chief Engineer was that she was confident in one are of socializing. Anything technological and Arty couldn't shut up about it. Which let her be proficient enough to order people around. Other than that she was a piss poor conversationalist. Arty never knew if she was saying the right or wrong thing. Never really having any friends did that to a person. Not a lot of kids to play with living on a merchant ship. For the most part it was just her and her grandfather. Sometimes he'd hire the occasional ship hand, but they never stayed long. His dying wish had been for her to join starfleet and experience life, among other things. Just like her parents had. _A touchy subject if there ever was one._

**_Clang!_ **

Arty jumped five feet in the air swirling around toward the intrusion, arming herself with whatever could be found. In this case the weapon of chance, a long ancient wooden ruler. On the other side of the mahogany doughnut desk an ion scrubber rolled uselessly on the concrete floor, having tumbled off it's metal shelf. A Barillian monkey, it's huge glossy amber eyes taking up most of its skull, raised it's large white bat like ears up in surprise. The clear culprit.

"Dammit Orvil! Stop mucking around, just because this place is already a lost cause doesn't mean you should add to the mess! Little bastard, trying to give me a heart attack," Arty grumbled the last part, placing the ruler on a pile of books.

Stepping out from the middle of the desk she walked over to grab the item and return it to it’s proper place, before waving a reprimanding finger at the other mammal. "Oi! Those big eyes won't work on me. Now where have you been? I asked for a stylus almost thirty minutes ago."

Orvil trilled indignantly, waving little furry hands to and fro, his twin tails twisting and curling. Usually a clear indicator he was hiding something. Which became evident when he held out a black stylus covered in orange snack residue. Exotic blue eyes narrowed as she snatch it out of his little monkey hand. "Aha, J'accuse! You've got freetah puffs stashed away somewhere! Oh, you sneak! I knew you were a bit to eager to run off to the front office and retrieve this. Alright, where are they. We can either do this the hard way or the easy way, but be warned. I haven't snacked for three hours. That's practically a lifetime."

Arty folded her arms across her chest, curved hip cocking defiantly. Orvil, the little miscreant, copied the gesture verbatim. But monkey see monkey do wasn't at play there. Sarcasm and rebellion flash in those big ole eyes of his. And it was not her emotions reflecting back at her, as she'd been corrected time after time by others. Orvil was intelligent, don't let the cute fuzzy features steer you wrong. But Arty truly must have been bored to be harassing an animal for food. Something that had turned into a regular occurrence after the first two months of exile.

And there she was, about to jump over and strangle the little bastard, when a gruff cough interrupted the tentative silence. Arty froze for a millisecond. The noise definitely humaniod in it's origin and one that she hadn't made. In an instant she was a mess of awkward feet and limbs turning toward the owner of the sound. Social anxieties kept any smart ass responses at bay. The ones she felt no judgement to spew in the company of her small mammalian friend.

It only further doubled, eyes widening, heart speeding up, when Arty found herself face to face with an admiral. Not just any Admiral though. The _“Puba”_ of Admirals. _The Grand Admiral._ And of all things, oddly enough, accompanied by a female Vulcan who was just as old and withered as himself. This was it. They were coming to tell her to get lost. She had wondered when they'd discharge her, send her packing in shame and ridicule. Arty had to swallow down the lump forming in her throat as it constricted at the thought. Starfleet was all she knew. The only home she’d ever have. Panicking she did the only thing that came to mind and stood to attention. An instinctual response. "Grand Admiral Archer, sir!"

His brows furrowed together, as if he'd been expecting something else, something more, some other person to be there to greet him. Not the academic mess before him. With untamed blonde hair that waved and curled every which direction, as if it didn't know how it wanted to settle. Big blue doe eyes darting around nervously, not knowing where to linger. Full pink pouty lips trying in vain not to frown. Or a tall slip of a woman hiding underneath the fashion disaster she called clothes. She didn't look like a power abusing incompetent fool that cost lives and almost crippled  the federation, just a fool. But looks were always rather deceiving. He grumbled indignantly at getting distracted by her appearance, "At ease ensign."

 _Ouch._ Arty had to stop herself from wincing at the term. Another reason her solitude was a blessing in disguise. She was never reminded of her lack of rank. But Arty managed to stifle the response, curious and frightful of why the sudden abundance of visitors. Even more so of the Vulcan who was so studiously cataloguing her every move. But no one made any attempts at conversation. Only breathing echoed in the silence. Perhaps they were waiting on her to start. That'd be a long wait.

The Vulcan, not bothered by the tense atmosphere, shifted her attention. Falling upon the three digital easer boards cluttered around the desk and the piles of papers littered and pinned near them, filled with more scribbled equations and formulas. _Her work!_ In a flash Arty rushed over, grabbing an easer, and removed bits of the mathematical specs of her malfunctioning pet project. One small personal cloaking device that worked for seven seconds till it sputtered and re-mattered into a forcefield. Something it was _not_ supposed to do. Arty's initial hope was to create a working prototype then remodel the specs to retro-fit a constellation class ship with. But it was still a work in progress, thus she didn't wish to share her failure. Just like the ones she had on improving impulse and warp engines.

"Uh...sorry about the mess, um, what can I do for you," Arty shakily asked, turning over papers so they faced down. Hiding them from roaming eyes. The alien female raised a brow at the odd behavior. Which in turn caused another shot of anxiety to bubble up compelling Arty to wring her hands together. _Oh god, why were they there._

Archer seemed to snap out of whatever train of thought he'd disappeared into and leveled an intense gaze up the fidgety engineer. "Right. I'm not one to mince words so I'm just going to level with you. Despite everything that occurred over a year ago you've been re-assigned effective immediately."

Arty blinked, fearing she'd heard wrong. It had to be a joke or at least a delusion brought on by panic induced fear. No admiral in there right mind would personally come down to reassign her... _unless_. Unless! Unless it was to Delta Vega and they wished to see with a perverse sense of satisfaction the horrified look upon her face as they gave her the news. That made sense. Dreading the worst she found herself asking the question before she could second guess herself on it. "S-should I be packing warm?"

A flash of puzzlement drew across the Admirals features before amused understanding took it's place. Apparently getting the reference. He was glad to know all engineers feared crossing him or else suffer the freezing temperatures of Delta Vega. And having no pity for her he felt no need to correct the assumption to put the nervous engineer out of her misery. In fact, he decided to have a bit of fun with it. "That remains entirely up to you. Though I would suggest packing _light_ , possibly for _heat_. We can beam the rest of your belongs to you later," Archer replied cryptically. This sent Arty's mind into a tailspin of different scenarios. Each worse than the last. But his emphasis on packing light and for heat could only mean one thing. At least to her.

Oh god, they were sending her to Delta Sol! The unbearably hot planet with six suns, no night, and terrain that was mostly covered by shifting lava. She'd shrivel up like a prune and cook like a lobster! At least on Vega Arty could put on more clothes to combat the cold, but there was only so much she could do against heat. She'd even heard that the air conditioning never worked on that base. They didn't just want to humiliate and punish her, they wanted to kill her! Oh why, oh why, did she keep her mouth shut about the truth.

"Your lack of instruction is ill-advised Admiral," the Vulcan spoke to her counterpart almost chastisingly, "as many situations may arise it would only be logical Miss Greenway account for all weather climates and pack accordingly. I do not understand why you would attempt to leave an officer unprepared to the dangers of space exploration. It would be negligent to do so."

Archer looked throughly ruffled and agitated at being, what was the equivalent, of scolded by the vulcan. It made him seem like some greenhorn and undermined his authority, but if he were to explain the meaning of his statement it could be construed as harassment. So he remained tactfully silent on the matter and moved on. "Right...Ensign Greenway you are to report to the Daystrom long range beaming pad thirty-five minutes from now. That should be ample time to collect a few items and your uniform, though you're likely not gonna have time to change. Since you won't be on duty when you beam aboard the _Enterprise_ it shouldn't be a problem."

All breath left Arty with a violent swoosh of air. The _Enterprise_ , the _Enterprise_! They were sending her there! Of all the ships in the fleet why'd it have to be that one. They could have chosen a number of different ones! Hell, she'd rather have death by Delta Sol than resume commission on the Enterprise. Arty's mouth fluttered and floundered to voice her objection. To scream no! But how could she? To question an Admiral was grounds enough to get her another court marshal. This time probably getting her kicked out of Starfleet for good. Now that was a thought. A very tempting thought. But she just didn't have the heart to take the easy way out, no matter how much she wished or wanted to. Arty had made a promise she intended to keep. One that unfortunately involved her continued association with the organization.

Frowning, Arty shakingly lifted her hand in a salute. Per protocol. "Y-yes-s Sir."

"Then I'll see you at the transporter room at 8:00 hours. Dismissed ensign."

With a mad dash Arty, scrambled to grab a few accordion file holders to collect what ever data that could be carried that, she barely noticed the other two leaving. Nor did she even realize the Vulcan woman had never been introduced to her. Of course, much later, she would learn that was by design. So while the engineer calculated approximately how long it would take to amass the essentials from home and return to HQ the two co-conspirators left to quietly converse out in the deserted hallway.

"Did you see what you needed to see," Archer grumbled glancing down at the woman walking along side him. Lady T'Pau pulled out the PADD hidden within the folds of her robes, gazing at the window already open on the screen stoically. Greenway had been the last one on the list; they had met the others earlier. "I believe so."

The man snorted, "It's hard to comprehend that she got the highest compatibility."

"Yes, it's quite a waste," she agreed, "Her academic career had been promising, however the tribunal and all the implications were rather unfortunate. Miss Greenway would have been perfect were it not for that."

"Are you ever going to inform the commander of what you're doing?"

"I shall give him a few weeks to familiarize himself with each of the women. I am sure you will send the enterprise appropriate missions that would utilize each of them specifically in some capacity alongside the commander."

It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. A very presumptuous one too. Archer could feel his blood pressure rise when T'Pau turned to him expectantly with a raised eyebrow. It took all his self control not to start shouting at the nerve. The woman was pushing it, but Commander Spock was a damned fine officer. One that couldn't be afforded to be lost. Which meant he'd have to rope Pike into the scheme. After all, he was directly in charge of the lot and had a fierce loyalty to the _Enterprise_ crew. Which was why it admittedly shouldn't be to hard, the newly ordained Admiral cared for the hybrid and also needed the political backing that Archer could provide. Especially with the starship family addendum he was putting on the agenda next admiralty meeting. Archer just didn't want to have to explain why he needed the help.

"I'll see what I can do," he gritted out overly polite. Not that T'Pau noticed. Vulcans rarely caught on to the nuances of an emotional species. And he assumed he was correct in that knowledge as she made no indication of catching on to his hidden hostility. "Then I depart knowing my grandson is in capable hands. Peace and long life Grand Admiral Archer."

Returning Archer's PADD unto his care she left unhindered to catch the shuttle for New Vulcan. Not that they dared leave without her. As she disappeared down a corridor Archer stood with uncertainty. If the three women ever caught on things would get complicated. What would the public think to learn that a well respected Admiral was basically pimping out his officers. Of course Starfleet would do everything in it's power to burry that information rather than risk the bad publicity. Which in the long run was better than the shit storm that would occur if he did nothing to save the hybrid. Something Archer wasn't about to let happen.

As the doors to the Millennium Archive burst open with a loud resounding shutter, ensign Greenway rushed out at warp speed, struggling to juggle an arm full of schematics and four accordion briefcases. Archer was quick to hide the tablet. The tablet in his hand that showed a service picture of Arty, attached with the usual standard information, but more pressingly a big 98.9% match flashing across the screen. She rushed past so consumed in her panic, that she didn't even notice him. Much to the Admirals relief.

When she vanished into a turbo lift only then did Archer look down at the device. Hard to believe she beat the other two candidates by an overwhelming thirty percent. If only the woman hadn't been such a colossal screw up he would have been sending only one person verses the three. _A waste indeed._

* * *

 

 _Thirty minutes later; Somewhere near the Gamma Quadrant_ One Montgomery Scott jumped up from his seat with a holler.

"Ican'na will'na have 'er upon my ship! Dat' woman's a blight and nothin' good could come from 'aving 'er here! Send 'er back captain, I beg of yah! I canna' trust 'er on managin' repairs, maintenance, or even regulatin' the _Enterprise_."

Scotty was livid, absolutely livid. Had he known before hand who he was about to beam aboard _his_ ship he'd have broken the damned transporter to keep that nasty wretch from harming his lovely lass again. He couldn't believe the gall she had to even come back in the first place.

"I'm sorry Scotty but it's not our call. The reassignment came from the Grand Admiral himself. My hands are tied," Jim sighed wearily. He himself wasn't very enthused about the decision either. He'd heard about the incident second hand, from what he was told and had read the woman wasn't a good fit for his crew. Scotty however took it as another personal affront. "Ach! Of course it was Admiral Archer! E's 'ad it in for me ever since tha' accident. This is just another bloody attempt at punishin' me! I swear I'll punch tha' old blow 'ard next I see 'em for this!"

"Be that as it may Mr. Scott I would suggest you cease broadcasting threats against your superior or I will be forced to report you," Spock blankly admonished. This however only seemed to further infuriate the Scotsman, causing his face to flush an alarming shade of purple red and puce. Jim didn't even think the man was breathing. But, noticing the chief engineer was about to blow a gasket, and likely take a swing at his first officer, Jim stepped in between the two; hoping he could diffuse the situation. The woman wasn't even there yet and she was already causing problems.

"Look, I know this isn't ideal, but there's nothing to be done about it. Just assign her to inventory or something. I don't think even _she_ could manage to screw that up."

"Fine," Scotty shouted, flopping back down to the control station, "But let the record show that I donna' like it, not one bit."

"Duly noted," Jim exhaled before whirling his hands up in the air, "Now lets get this show on the road. It's not like were just getting her anyway. We're receiving two other lovely ladies as well."

With a clap, the captain grinned and wiggled his eyebrows up and down lewdly. Always one to try an lighten the mood with harmless flirtatious comments. Everyone besides Spock returned a knowing smile, amused by the playboy ruse. Of course Jim's mind would immediately go there. "What's this I hear about new personnel," a grumpy voice growled.

Jim turned to see an irate Bones enter the transporter room. He winced as his best friend crossed his arms over his chest. _Damn._ The blonde purposely hadn't informed the country doctor for a reason. He knew Bones would be upset about the new crew members. Which was why Jim was going to give who ever informed the man of the meet-and-greet beta shift for the next five weeks when he found them. Plastering on a quick smile he tried to play it off, "Bones! What're you doing here? Did you miss this handsome face so much you had to come all the way up here to see me. Aww, you shouldn't have."

"Dammit kid, I get enough of that stupid face down in my sickbay why'd I go out of my merry way to see it on purpose. And don't you Bones me! I've been asking for more nurses for weeks and what do we get!? A _barely_ useful botanist, an _obsolete_ historian, and an _inept_ engineer. What the hell Jim!"

"Ah," Jim scratched the back of his head, "see, I knew you were going to get upset. That's why I wasn't going to say anything."

"Dammi-"

"Captain we're receiving three signals from headquarters," an ensign interrupted unwisely, wilting when the doctor shot him a scathing glare. It was clear a shouting match was about to occur but the arrival of guests, _female guests_ , waylaid that bitch fest. If only for a moment. Bones shook a threatening finger in the Captain's direction. "This isn't over Jim. We're going to discuss this later. And while we're at it there's a few _hypo's_ with your name on 'em!"

The captain visibly cringed at the reference of the aforementioned medical device. Why was it he was getting punished when he hadn't done anything. Suddenly the poor idiot who'd informed McCoy would be receiving double beta shifts. Changing his stance to a more professional one he nodded his assent to Scotty, "Lock onto the signals and please make it quick. We've got five more minutes before we're no longer in range. And don't try to pull a fast one. I'm going to see what I can do to send Ensign Greenway back but, we have to do this through the proper channels. Else Archer will send more people you don't like onto the ship."

The Scotsman made a constipated face thinking of a ship full of everyone he ever hated or feared and shivered. That thought spurred him to type on the controls faster than he would have liked. After all, he was not looking forward to the new addition to engineering.

With a tale tell hum, the pad spurred to life, swirling with three golden lights. Each life inside the swarming glow became clearer and clearer till finally they materialized back into existence. All eyes falling onto the new members in slight surprise. The women looked like an odd collection of human beauty at its best. Each unique in their own way.

The one on right had an aura of calming grace that seemed to fit her small quiet delicate Indonesian features. It was the eyes though that warranted the most attention, a dark tropical green that almost seemed in conflict with her heritage. Judging by her appearance, and the snug science blues hugging her slim frame, she was the newly added botanist Saloni Shasthri. Of course, the plants she had on a small rollaway cart near her bag were a dead give away. The identities of the other two though were a bit harder to decipher, as appeared to have had short notice of their reassignment. Each wearing civilian clothes.

While the one in the middle was a pear shaped vixen with long luminous red hair, tied in a ponytail, it was clear as day those brandy eyes held no interest in the situation. In fact she almost resembled a doll, devoid of expression. Kirk decided that she was the infamous Greenway and moved onto the last woman. Scotty himself must've come to the same conclusion, having never met the last chief, and glared something fierce at the ginger dressed in a yellow flirty sundress.

Which meant the woman on the end was Marla McGivers. An odd lithe like woman with expressive electric blues and moon kissed skin. She shook like a rabbit being eyed by wolves as she tried to maintain the scrolls and file holders piled in her arms. She definitely fit the historian bill. Paper was very old school. Not to mention the academic vibe her outfit screamed to the world gave her away. Because who wore big think glasses anymore!? It was the 23rd century, they were so antiquated. Still, the outfit gave Kirk a naughty teacher fantasy that if she was’t a member of starfleet he might have pursued.

"Welcome aboard everyone. I'm Captain Kirk. In a minute I'll have a yeoman show you each to your assigned rooms, but first lets get to the introductions going shall we."

Throwing on the charm he took a step towards the science officer and held her hands in his, "You must be our new botanist Miss Shasthri. I look forward to working with you."

Saloni smiled politely and inclined her head, "As do I Captain. But please call me Saloni. I find people have a much better time pronouncing my first name than my last, though your elocution is impeccable."

“Thanks. In that case you call me Jim," he grinned. But instead of receiving the cute blush he was aiming for Saloni just nodded. Clearly unflappable. Jim grinned, he was going to work on that.

Stepping over to the engineer with a strained smile he made no move to shake her hand. "Ensign Greenway. Welcome back."

That unmarred doll face suddenly scrunched up with indignation. "Sorry sir, but I'm Marla McGivers. Ensign Greenway is on the end."

All eyes swerved to Arty as she stopped breathing at the attention. Panicked worried eyes took in the hostile faces peering at her, some worse than others, and it took all her control not to shrink back. Well, mostly hostile. Vulcans don't really count. What Arty wouldn't give to have a working cloaking device and disappear at that moment. She should have tried for another court-martial. Would have been more preferable than the scrutiny she found herself under.

Jim rolled over the folly and returned to grin at the new crewmen, albeit less at the engineer. "Right...well, let's see about those rooms."

Arty tried not to frown at the cold dread forming in her stomach. She just had that detached feeling like things weren't going to go well for her. The older man glaring from his controls did nothing to help ease matters either. Delta Sol definitely would've been much preferable. At least it would've been less hostile. And that was saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes I collaged the F to make all these image headers with a crappy online editing program that wasn't designed for what I was using it for. (not to mention it took me hours to find the right pics to use)


	2. Chapter Two: A Curtian Rises

 

 

 **A** rty had been right in her earlier dread. It had been the first thought to cross her mind when standing before her assigned room. That thirty by thirty storage area lay in a chaotic shamble; a mess of old wiring, ripped wall paneling, tipped over shelving, and broken equipment adjoined by a small attached closet. How a room on a newly built ship came to such disrepair was beyond her. Though Arty had an inkling engineering might have some idea on that subject.

So, due to all other rooms being _"filled"_ to occupancy, she was left with the unusual accommodations, a storeroom; but Arty knew that had been a blatant lie. Not that knowing would fix the predicament, nor would calling the yeoman on the bullshit help either. It was obviously done to bully her. So rationally any complaint filed to the brass on Arty's part would just make matters worse. Not that the sixteenth floor could get any worse as far as living situation went. It was exclusively for cold storage and the waste management and conversion system. Basically where bad smells went to percolate and choke on their own foul odor. Which accounted for the acrid smell that had immediately accosted her nostrils upon exiting the turbo lift. Her room, thankfully enough, remained pleasantly sterile if not a bit musty.

The yeoman escort had been quick to leave Arty after that, either to escape the smell or her presence she couldn't begin to fathom. Both probably. So just as fast as the man had spirited her away from the tour group, he had just as quickly vanished around a corner. Leaving her to deal with the bedlam of quarters. And even though a security team could have been sent down to help clear out the place, Arty had been told in a dismissive manner that it would likely take a few days to process the request. They were _busy_ after all. I.e. no one would help her even if asked to. His words, not hers. Which meant it was left to her to sort out.

"God dammit! Gah, f-come on," Arty huffed with a wheezy strain. A trickle of hot sweat traveled down her brow to which she instinctively swiped at with jerky movement, only to abort it when the shelving unit she was supporting almost leveraged to the side. Letting out a strangled breath, Arty heaved the steel unit fully upright and maneuvered it backwards to the wall. It was the last shelf. And that small progress made her happy to have three days off to settle in. It would be needed if her quarters were ever to be habitable. After all, it was probably going to be the one place Arty spent most of her time. Her sanctum sanctorum. Anywhere else was likely to be met with harassment. A sentiment that left her feeling not only slightly helpless but depressed. An awful combination. One she hadn't felt since childhood. Funny how things went full circle.

With a shake of the head, Arty quickly brushed the stifling emotions away and threw herself into sprucing up the place. A welcome distraction.

Taking inventory of her surroundings first, a lists of to do's formulated. One: keep all relevant equipment necessary to fashion a replicator, some sort of sonic shower, and working toilet. Two: relocate all unwanted scraps to a safe location nearby for any later repairs. Three: re-panel the walls. Four: build everything on list one. Five: program the replicator to create pillows for a makeshift bed. Six: take shower then cry self to sleep. A glorious plan. Or it would have been, but Arty was never very gifted in the luck department. "So how are you liking the accommodations _Ensign_ Greenway."

That voice. That low cloying voice. It lashed at her memory with a sickening crack and ended with an overwhelming wave of nausea. There was no mistaking what was behind her. WHO was behind her. Arty froze, breath catching halfway in her throat, fingers nervously fidgeting with each other, as her waif frame slightly shook with a thousand different bottled emotions. She was not ready for this encounter. Had hoped it'd never occur actually. What did she say? What should she do? What was the protocol for a situation like this? Was there anything she could do? What would _they_ do?

As those questions circulated invisibly in the air the person behind her lost patients. They never had been even-tempered. Fed up with the silence the man spoke again, this time with some bite. "I said, _ensign_ , how do you _like_ your _quarters_."

Turning around tentatively, against every bit of better judgement that screamed not to, Arty looked upon the one who often visited during her nightly terrors. Heart thundering in her ears so loud she could have sworn the entire ship was privy to the sound. Arty tried to respond but her voice had all but abandoned her. Something everyone else tended to do as well. Lt. Winsworth leaned against the door frame, a smug sneer and a wary eye firmly placed upon her. Pushing off, the man took a step into the room causing Arty to instinctively take one back. It only seemed to further his venomous smile. "It's nice to see you again too. Though I'm a bit disappointed, I was expecting to at least see some scarring from the accident."

Arty could hear the bitterness dripping from his voice, leaving no doubt in her mind that he blamed her for his misfortune. Cause from where she stood anyone could see the few lingering burns marring his skin, gnarled and scared, creeping up his neck like angry kudzu from under the red uniform. Accusatory coal eyes registered what she was examining.

"Ah," Winsworth clucked, "I see you noticed the reminder of our time together. I've got more underneath. Doctors say with a few more painful skin treatments most'll be gone in a year. But you and I both know why you’re so baby smooth and I'm left looking like a hybrid of Freddy Kreuger and a Cardassian. And it has nothing to due with medical sciences. _Freak_."

He took a few more threatening steps into the room and it took all of Arty's will power not to move away. "F-freak," she stuttered with a useless squeak, mental cursing her inability to vocalize a proper statement, "w-what are you talking a-about. I-I don-don't understand-."

"Listen," Winsworth interrupted with a snap, "I didn't come here to watch you blather on like some computer glitch. It's really pathetic and quite frankly I'm surprised you even made it to chief engineer with all your social anxieties and neuroses, But that’s equal employment for you. Yeah that's right I looked at your file. I can do that now. Yet, that's not why I'm here."

Before Arty could register the movement the Lt. crossed the room like a starving vampire that'd been mistakenly invited in and circled for the kill, trailing rough calloused fingertips over her shoulder and across the nape of her neck to the other side. A cold sick prickly feeling trailed in its wake, spiking when he gripped both of her arms harshly, digging into clothed flesh. Leaning in, his mouth rested to her ear, Winsworth snarled. "Now this is how things are going to work, _babe_. I'll keep your freaky little secret of how we _really_ survived so close to the blast origin. You and I both know what'll happen if Starfleet ever discovers your _gift_ and it won't be with a commendation but with an autopsy table. So in exchange for my _generous_ _silence_ your going to keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut tight about what _I_ did that day. Which shouldn't be to much of a hardship since you can barely speak proper standard in the first place. _But_ if I even hear _talk_ of your innocence or word of inquiry for the investigative reports I'll let more than just Starfleet know about how _you_ saved us. I wonder what the Cardassians or the Romulans might do with a mutant like _you_."

 _No_. Arty all but stopped breathing as cracked lips brushed against the curve of her ear with the viperous threat. There was no use pretending. That day, in the chaos, Arty had done something, something so stupid, something she was never supposed to, but that stupid thing saved their lives. Despite hating what this man had done to her, was threatening her with, she never once wished he had died that day. Sure it'd have been easier, god it would have been so much easier, but she just didn't have it in her to wish that. Despite how much this man made her skin crawl, cry with the injustice, and shrink away from the bullying. Arty all ready had thirty-two deaths weighing on her shoulders, she couldn't add another. Though she had no problem hoping Winsworth fell from some engineering scaffolding during shift and broke his neck. Was that wrong of her? Maybe. Probably. But that would be on him not her.

For better or worse Arty believed in the sanctity of life, that if you save one, you save the world. Death was strictly a last resort option, and only when all other avenues had been exhausted. Her grandfather had taught her that. A lesson fully ingrained into her character. Into her very DNA. So it was no wonder Arty used an ability that by human biological standards she shouldn't possess. And with that blackmail in mind Arty truly was powerless, making a bad situation even worse. The possible nightmare scenario of what he could do left her regretting the decision not to get kicked out of Starfleet for insubordination. Damned hindsight.

The lieutenant retreated and stepped around her, almost knocking Arty over in the process as he dodged broken equipment. Just as he hit the doorway he stopped and craned his head back. "Oh and don't think about reporting any of this," he gestured to the quarters, "or anything else for that matter. I've got friends in communications that'll block any outgoing messages, then inform me. If you think this is bad it can get _sooo_ much worse. I'm very popular around here and a lot of people think you're presence is a dishonor to the memory of those who died due to your, well _my_ , follies. Might want to watch your back, _ensign_. Just a _friendly_ warning."

With that said he left Arty to her own devices, the door sliding closed behind him. What the Lt. didn't noticed though, as he smugly strode away, was the cold eyes following him. Ones that had heard everything. Ones that were very interested in the secrets the disgraced engineer might hold. The conversation definitely peaked their interest. And with all the animosity directed towards her, coupled with the isolation, the Arty woman would make for easy prey. The eavesdropper could feel a promotion. Could feel it in their bones. The masters would be pleased.

 

* * *

 

 

 ** _Stardate 2259.28_ ** _The Enterprise, Somewhere near the Gamma Quadrant_

 **H** ot tears cascaded down Arty Greenway's cheeks for the fifth time in three days that she was tempted to scream. Vigorously Arty swiped at the shameful things. They'd do no good. They'd help nothing. Yet she was no more in control of them than she was of her own circumstances. It was her own fault though. Should have known better.

The whole _"encounter"_ with Winsworth had, understandably, left her shaken. That tense conversation confirmed just the sort of treatment she'd be facing during her tentative post. Arty's hope that people were above revenge and anger proved to be naive on her part. She should've tried for a court marshal. Tried harder to avoid the enterprise. She should've known better...

So the damned water works had burst open once the Lt. took his leave. Arty blamed it on repressing her feelings for so long, in an attempt to recover from past trauma; cause god knows the whole situation stirred up a whole bunch of shitty self depreciating emotions. Like sticking a hot poker in a raw open wound before spitting in it for lubrication. And that was frustrating. Crying was a useless waste of time, it never helped, only made you more tired and shitty, but it was out of ones control. Which caused her hand to slip and accidentally burn her wrist on a soldering pen. Again. "Shit!"

Orvil startled right out of the nest he'd built himself at the sudden outburst. Thumping right out of the replicated pillows and forgotten research papers. Big amber eyes sought after Arty questioningly in silent askance. Sliding from his perch, the small primate hesitantly approach from his nest. Curious to what was wrong, his tiny little hand came to rest upon her leg before he emitted a whiney trill of concern. And, having noticed the precipitation sliding down her cheeks, he cooed and hopped up, curling onto her lap to snuggle. An aim at comfort.

Arty gave a wet smile and rubbed affectionately at an ear in quiet appreciation. Orvil. Her one true friend. The only constant in Arty's life that never judged or condemned her. If it weren't for the moderate PTSD from the engineering explosion he'd probably be in some zoo awaiting her return. If she was lucky. Now, while her case was only mild, the doctors still prescribed a service animal to alleviate the stresses and anxieties of day to day tribulations. Especially since she had negative reactions to the usual medications. So Arty had Orvil certified. Though smuggling him onboard in one of the accordion filers was a counter measure she still took. Better to circumvent any ' _imagined_ ' roadblocks that might be thrown at her than be shit out of luck. To survive with any sense of sanity intact upon the enterprise Orvil would be key. His company was Arty's saving grace. She'd find no kind words or actions elsewhere.

With that heavy thought in mind she resumed her work upon the yard length device, a two and a half inch diameter wand, an adaption of a sonic shower; hand held. No way she could build the real thing, not with the space or materials _"provided."_ Hell, she could hardly fit the patchwork metal toilet into the small closet with any form of leg room, though she managed by the skin of her teeth. The replicator had been easy enough since a broken model had been in the rubble to worked off of. Still, she should've been resting the past few days not retrofitting a storage closet to be a bedroom. And dammit, wouldn't you know it, she soldered her hand again cause it shook from exhaustion. Too much working, not enough sleep. "Fuck!"

"Are you alright?"

Arty froze prompting Orvil to stir. Someone was in her room. SOMEONE WAS IN HER ROOM. AGAIN! Tentatively, craning her head towards the door, Arty caught an unfamiliar figure occupying the entrance. Dwarfing her. The brightly lit corridor behind him skewed the man's features from view, making it nigh impossible to discern his face.

Had she left that open? No, she hadn't. But it wasn't as if it was locked either. Cautiously Arty answered, unsure wether or not he was there on friendly intentions.

"Y-yeah...just um...s-soldered my hand," Arty replied softly, lifting up the visual proof. The figure at the door instantly stepped through the threshold with purpose and descended upon her. Under the lights of the dimly lit room, Arty could finally make him out. He was tall, gifted with broad shoulders and toned muscles that rippled underneath the red shirt that clung to him like a second skin. His face would be a picturesque model of strong angles and masculinity if it weren't for the small beauty mark on his left cheek, resting just below dark green eyes; but even that seemed to add an enticing quality. Not that he was lacking in the odd aura of charm that oozed from his pores. Of course, what really drew Arty's attention was the red fiery hair resting on his head in a ruff an' tumble manner. It was just as uncooperative as her own with the small exception that his looked good. She could see people swooning over a man like him. Wouldn't be her reaction though. She wouldn't know normal if it smacked her in the face.

Eyes widening, Arty panicked as he knelt beside her, grabbing the outstretched arm to evaluate the burn. Instinct urged Arty to retreat, but her brain sputtered and fizzled to come up with any proper response. "Doesn't look to bad," he mused before fishing something out of his pocket, "here. I always end up with some cut or scrap while working so I make a point to carry a few regenpads."

Pulling the blue wrapper off from the item in his hand with his teeth, the man brought Arty's arm closer and placed a white square patch over the burns. Instantly it adhered to the skin and shifted into a see through liquid mesh. The effects were almost immediate as the angry bubbled flesh began to cool and slowly recede to it's former state of being.

Weakly, Arty removed her hand from his grip and held it to her chest, gazing down at her work apprehensively. _Why'd he care about her injuries? Was it some ploy? Or was he being genuine? Didn't he know who she was?_

"T-thanks," Arty stuttered out meekly, glancing over as she did. He smiled warmly in return. "No problem. Though you might want to set the lights onto a higher setting, I can't imagine it helps with busy work. So," he drawled excitedly, "what are you making in here anyway? Some secret project?"

Arty pursed her lips into a nervous frown, swallowing hard. He asked to many questions to a person that could barely get through a proper sentence without stuttering. If she could Arty she would have responded that the lighting wasn't the problem, though it was " _broken_." That she'd just been awake for three days straight because nightmares refuse her any solace. That the ship dredged up memories that she _"had"_ been slowly putting behind her. _Not anymore_. That she wasn't in the room by choice and she wasn't working on some secret project. That due to _"over occupancy"_ she was forced to create a stupid make shift sonic shower to remove all the sweat and grime she'd accumulated the past few days removing junk from the room so it would be habitable, but of course, what actually made it past her lips was vastly shortened. "N-no."

Great Arty, great, monosyllabic answers. If she hadn't already look like some pathetic bumbling idiot she did now. But the green eyed man, much to her relief, never let it be known if he found her to be some sort of mentally underdeveloped lady-child and just smiled. "Skittish thing aren't you? Well that's alright. Nothing wrong with that. So what are you working on then? I haven't seen anything quite like it."

"A...an a-adaption of-...a sonic shower...a h-hand held version," she muttered, the last part barely passing for a whisper. Though he must have had good hearing as he caught that bit. "Hand held!? Well that's interesting. That could actually have some real world mission application, especially if people accidentally get stranded on an unoccupied planet for a few weeks. Which, now that I think about it, happens more often than not when the Captains registered for the field. I'm sure Scotty'd love to get a look at it. What made you think of the concept?"

"...don't have a shower. No m-more room...these are m-my...quarters."

"Really!? That's great," he exclaimed, patting her enthusiastically on the shoulder before shifting gears, "not the shower part of course, that's a bummer, but the quarters part. My post is on this floor and it gets a little lonely, it'd be nice to talk to someone other than myself once and a while. I'm one of three engineers in charge of the WMC systems for the enterprise. Basically a fancy term for ship's plumber."

Arty smiled lightly at the joke but remained altogether reserved. She bit her lip nervously not knowing what to do with the impromptu conversation. Actually, Arty never thought she'd be talking to anyone outside of work. Or anywhere else really. Socializing was not in her round house. Anything she might mean to say would only come out in a jumbled fragmented mess. Unless it had to deal with technology, but that need not be said. Arty briefly wondered if he'd find it odd if she suddenly started talking about the Tucker equation of warp proficiency, and how with a slight modification in the nacelle outputter coiling that efficiency could jump up by three percent. Or maybe he'd wish to talk about the recent rumors of developments in transwarp beaming that had been secreted away to the deepest bowls of starfleet?

Yet, while she was second guessing herself on how to respond, or what topic she could successfully voice, the more time lapsed. Something she knew wasn't conducive for any sort of conversation. It would always lead to tension and bad impressions. _Dammit just say something! Anything!_

"Why'd-you-come-into-my-room," Arty hastily voiced in a rushed mess before mentally beating her head against a wall at how rude that sounded. Smooth, that was smooth. A flicker of agitation briefly flashed across the man's face before it vanished into amusement. Amusement was better than anger though.

"I heard clanging and cursing coming from the empty storeroom on my way to shift and got curious. Didn't realize this was now a room. Sorry for just walking in."

"T-that's ok," Arty mumbled apologetically, more embarrassed than upset. While her quarters were no longer in shambles they weren't exactly what one could consider home or guest worthy. Or even up to code. It resembled the archive in a way. Filled with unwanted broken bits of machinery lined up on shelving, boxes of old-fashioned schematics and obsolete paper books scattered about. As if it were all out of a 21st century steampunk novel. The strangest attraction was the bed that sort of looked like something ripped right out of arabian nights with all the colorful pillows piled in the corner in leu of a mattress, draped with blankets to give the illusion of semi-privacy. All in all an odd mortifying mess. Though the man didn't seem at all that perturbed by it.

Standing up the redhead extended his hand for a customary shake. "Sorry, just realized I didn't catch your name. I'm Asher Mayburey by the way. Perhaps after shift I could drop by and maybe you can tell me the life story of…." he trailed off waiting for a name with expectant excitement.

Arty stiffened. He hadn't known who she was. Oh no. Oh crap… Arty knew the moment she answered she'd likely never see him again. Unless of course it was in a lynching mob out for her blood. Which had a high possibility of coming to fruition on the enterprise. And here it seemed Arty might've had a chance on building the stepping stones for a friendship. One that would have been most welcome giving the hostile environment. Asher had seemed pleasant enough, maybe even interested in the prospect, but this was were it went up in flames. She couldn't lie as he'd eventually find out and that'd only make matters worse. Best to get things over with. So the engineer answered mournfully, robotically reaching to take the hand she knew would soon spurn her. "Arty Greenway."

Asher took a step back in recognition, as if the very utterance of her name burned. Face draining of blood, his earlier smile slid off it with surprised horror. Awkwardly he cleared his throat before shifting his gaze between her and the exit. She hated being right. "Well...sorry um, I-it's nice to meet you and all, but I'm late for shift. I should really be off."

Arty didn't even bother to stop the man as he made a mad scramble out of the room like a bomb was about to detonate. She wouldn't have been able to say anything to explain herself anyways. Morosely Arty returned to her project and picked up the soldering pen. "Computer," she intoned defeatedly, "lock doors."

The room clunked with a metallic hiss at the request. Only seven and a half months left before the enterprise returned to earth and she was free. Only seven and a half months left stranded in a waking nightmare. Only seven and a half months to try and keep sane. God. Time couldn't move fast enough.

 

* * *

 

 **_Stardate 2259.28_ ** _The Enterprise, Captains ready room_

 **"W** hat do you mean we're stuck with her!?"

Admiral Pike internally flinched, barely stopping himself from pinching the bridge of his nose in pain. Repeating himself to placate the bitching of the enterprise command crew was giving him a royal headache. One that was entirely undeserved. Curse Archer; it should be him working his way to a migraine. "Careful of your tone there Captain," he agitatedly remanded, "you're speaking to a superior officer."

"Yeah, well, Admiral, I would've thought you of all people could agree that ensign Greenway doesn't belong on this ship," Jim Kirk glared at the view screen, gritting his teeth to reign in some scathingly insubordinate remarks. He was trying to resolve the current problem the right way and prove to the brass, as well as everyone else, that he was proper _Captain_ material. Which meant he had to move through the official channels to prove he could operate just as efficient as any other captain with far more experience, but Chris was making that difficult. Pike couldn't even give him a valid reason as to why she was necessary. It was all a bunch of stonewalling, for no foreseeable reason.

"The decision is final Jim. There'll be no more argument out of any of you, and I expect everyone to carry on with professional decorum. This is a starfleet vessel not a high school, so act like it. And keep everyone in line," Pike informed, purposefully lingering his gaze upon officer Scott longer than any others, "If I hear one instant of misconduct or bullying toward the woman I'll reassign all of you to delta vega faster than Mr. Spock can say Illogical. Do I make myself clear."

Kirk unconsciously sat straighter in his chair at the authoritative timbre. "Crystal sir."

"Good," Pike nodded, "because the brass is looking for any excuse to prove your promotion was premature. So you're gonna have to tread carefully. Luckily, from what I understand of the situation, at least from what Archer's been telling me, is that she'll only be stationed there till the end of the mission. That's seven and a half months. Do you think you can handle that Officer Scott or do I need to have you removed from duty till she's gone?"

Scotty bristled, a flourish of scathing curses weighted at the tip of his tongue poised for attack, but for once in his life self preservation persevered and he remained silent in his anger. Though in order for anything to sound remotely civil he tightened his jaw. "I can 'andle it admiral. Donna you worry."

"Glad to hear it. But you'll excuse me if I defer to Mr. Spock to handle ensign Greenway's orientation as well as take up the duty of being her monthly proctor for reviews," Pike informed with a nonnegotiable attitude. Something he was doing for their benefit not hers. Even if part of the reason had to do with Archer's request and Chris was just trying to rationalize the reasoning. After all, anyone else would have trouble maintaining an objective attitude and in their emotional state might do something they'd later regret, costing them their post. And the one thing you could always count on a Vulcan for was their ability to remain professional and emotionless. A boon in that particular instance. Well, it would be if that particular Vulcan could catch the particular logic to Pike's thinking. Much to his dismay.

Speaking of. The modulated voice of the first officer cut through the unperceived, at least to him, tension; lifting that frustrating eyebrow in what could only be Vulcan _reprimand_. "Admiral Pike, it would be more prudent for Mr. Scott, as the ensign's direct superior and department head, to superintend Miss Greenway's evaluations and see to her work related needs. As Chief Science officer it would be illogical for me to do so as, while my vast knowledge and intellect supersedes Mr. Scott's, he is the lead engineering expert on the ship. Thus, it could be perceived as undermining his authority if I were to manage Ensign Greenway personally. Furthermore it could also be misconstrued as preferential treatment to specifically accommodate another departments inferior officer."

While Pike was certainly frustrated with his previous first's challenging rebuttal, that bordered on insubordination, he was also a few seconds away from breaking composure and laughing at the intellectual idiocy the man seemed to naturally possess. Vulcans. While technical in speech they often stated ' _facts_ ' in such a way that could inadvertently insult even the most peaceful of people. Which was most likely why Scotty was silently redirecting his rage at Spock with a look that could only be translated as _I'm three seconds away from reaching across the table and strangling you even though I know you could snap me like a twig in half a second flat because it would totally be worth it_.

However, pushing that issue aside, Pike redirected his efforts into citing logic despite not having a need to explain himself. Chris was an Admiral after all, he could just as easily order it and be done with the long distance conversation, but he needed to lay the foundation for deniability and raise the illusion of the likely reasoning for his request. "I can see your point Mr. Spock, but take this into account. If Mr. Scott is put in charge of Ensign Greenway there is a good statistical likelihood that with his temper, clouding his better judgement, he may show negative preferential treatment toward the woman in question. Or be accused of it due to said temperament because during this call he's been nothing but vehemently angry and quite vocal about it too. So by removing Mr. Scott from the equation not only is the chance of an incident occurring lessened, it also circumvents any false reports of unbecoming conduct. While I'm sure Miss Greenway would never make false reports or that Mr. Scott would act nothing but with professional etiquette I'd prefer to err on the side of caution. Because as you stated, he is the leading authority for engineering and you wouldn't want some subpar replacement that could end up getting you all killed by picking up the mantle to early in their career. Greenway being the case in point."

Now, while Pike's grandstanding clearly earned him a place on Scotty's shit list, it had the desired effect. Miraculously it changed the mind of one uncompromising Vulcan. "While I do not understand the presence of a mantle on a starship, and why someone else would later pick it up in Mr. Scott's absence, I can however, see the logic of everything otherwise stated. Thus I see no other option but to accept the new duties added to my roster for ship safety. It would be negligent as the first officer to dismiss the responsibility."

"Good. Not that you really had a choice in the matter, but since that's settled I have paperwork to do and you all have a ship to run so I'll let you get back to it. Pike out," the Admiral dismissed ending the transmission rather abrupt to escape, his visage winking into the blackness of the screen. But not before a collective of voices called after him in protest. "Wait Pike-" "Bloody hell-" "We'll ain't this just great-"

As the choir of agitated grumbling overtones settled upon the room Spock, the only silent member at the table, watched on with bemused consideration. Unknown to him why the others illogically engaged the matter in the admirals absence. The order had been given, thus logically it would be executed, yet the humans persisted in cursing fictional deities and denouncing the existence of non-fictional people. To put it simply, it was a waste of time.

"Captain," Scotty piped up, "I donna mean to sound ungrateful but yah promised ta' get tha' bloody woman off mah ship. Mah engineers 'ave been commin' ta' me, some in tears, with their concerns about 'er. Some of them lost their mates in tha' explosion. She'll only lower crew morale if allowed ta' stay."

Kirk ran a frustrated hand through his golden hair. "I know. I know, but we can't just kick her off because it makes us more comfortable. Even if ensign Greenway is causing so many problems just being here. Post her somewhere out of the way with minimal contact to others. She'll still be on the ship, but at least she won't be bothering anyone. Out of sight, out of mind."

Spock's eyebrow rose at that comment. While he didn't object to the posting option, as he had noticed a correlation to her arrival and crew productivity dropping, the way the others responded was as if she was causing complications purposely. Oddly enough he found himself voicing as much. "I do not believe the ensign in question designed to cause the current emotional turmoil elicited by the crew. I also find it reasonable to hypothesize Miss Greenway herself does not wish to currently reside aboard this vessel, as the previous encounter upon arrival seemed to indicate fear and great stress upon the matter," Spock informed matter of factly. Of course this only met with a varying set of glares.

"Well, what ever the reason," McCoy drawled in agitation, "It's left us holdin' a bag squirrlier than mema's meat surprise."

Two vastly differing people simultaneously retorted. One teasing, the other devoid of warmth. "Aww, you call your grandmother mema." "I do not understand how we are holding a bag of tree-dwelling rodent flesh."

McCoy flustered, a deep rosy red creeping angrily up his neck. "Dammit, shut up Jim and it's a human idiom you green blooded hobgoblin not a literal term. You know the difference right! Just means were left with an unpredictable situation that'll probably end up worse."

Spock opened his mouth, most likely with a rebuff, before Jim tactfully cut him off. No need to start another round of arguments. "Right, Scotty, where do you want to post her. You're still the ensigns direct superior, even if Spock’s in charge of her on other occasions."

Said Scotsman blinked out of his stupor and peered toward his Captain. All eyes fixated upon the engineer expectantly, all eager to resume work since the current matter had already eaten up too much time. "Well, I suppose I could post 'er on the WMC systems."

At that everyone gave him a long hard stare. Which Montgomery took offense to, cause they clearly believed his choice had more to do with punishment than practicality. If it just so happened the two mutually coincided it wasn't his fault. "What!" Scotty shouted, "She'll have the 'ole floor ta' 'erself, it'll give 'er the least amount of contact wit the crew. Besides, I got a request from them askin' for new meat to lessen the load a couple a' weeks ago. I canna spare anyone else so it's a win win. Yah like those Captain."

Looking somewhat less than convinced Kirk couldn't argue as the logic was grounded. He shrugged, "Alright. Sounds good. Spock, you might want to get on informing the ensign of her newly acquired position. While I'll be-"

"Getting his monthly physical," McCoy interrupted with a hard pat to Jim's shoulder. The blonde paled slightly, almost imperceivably twitching and squirming in his seat as he automatically eyed the door for escape. Not that the CMO would allow that. "But Booones-"

"No buts kid save yours making it's way to my sick bay. A Captains gotta lead by example and you're kind setting a shitty one by skipping out on mandatory check ups. I've got at least seventy-five other patients ducking the round up as well. So lets go yah big baby," the grumpy Doctor ordered, herding the younger man reluctantly towards the door. "Wait-but I'm still on shift Bones. I can't just leave in the middle of it, not very Captiany of me."

McCoy rolled his eyes at his friends poor attempt to still get out of something that wasn't up for debate. It was always like pulling teeth to get him to go to sick bay. "Well, then I'm sure Mr. Spock can handle the con for thirty or so minutes in your stead. Isn't that right Spock."

"As FO it is one of my primary functions to operate as acting Captain when the attending Captain is required elsewhere during shift so I see no reason for your query. I do not understand why you would seek permissions when it would be more prudent toward time management to just depart."

The southern Doctor let loose a loud exasperated sigh, face scrunching up with indignation. Couldn't the hobgoblin for once just agree and act like a normal person. "Dammit you cold blooded computer it's called being polite!"

"I am neither a computer, nor does my thermophysiology run cold, though my core temperature is significantly lower than a humans perhaps that is where you garnered the incorrect hypothesis. Of course as CMO I would have assumed you would have had the proper knowledge to know that most basic fact of Vulcan biology."

That didn't go over well. Jim looked about ready to burst into a fit of laughter as McCoy's face took on several different shades of souther rage. However, instead of watching the coming blow out, or stopping it, Jim figured it'd be a good enough distraction to elude what would most assuredly be a rough examination as his first officer ruffled Bones feathers. The hypo jabs would be most bruising. Instead, perhaps a visit to the science labs were in order. They were always doing neat and interesting things. However, his best friend unfortunately, knowing him as well as he did, shot an arm out preemptively as if privy to the very thoughts swirling around in his pretty blonde noggin; halted him from exiting with a grumbling Scotty. The lucky bastard. "Now where do you think you're going you corn fed fool."

"Ah, well, I didn't want to intrude on your lovers quarrel sooAHHHH-," Jim shouted in pain as the older man cuffed him in the back of the head, "what was that for?!"

Quickly grabbing a tighter hold on the captains arm and keeping him from bolting to freedom McCoy glowered at his quarry. "Shut it princess. You're going to sickbay so there's no use fightin' it."

Hastily, he rounded on the alien, the earlier insult not forgotten, "And you! I'll see you at 13:00 hundred for your check up. Don't think I didn't notice! I'm sure I have some new vaccinations you're needing and maybe even a prostate exam just to be thorough!"

Spock tilted his head slightly at the human and raised that infernal eyebrow up in contemplation. It escaped him on wether or not the man was making a veiled threat or was serious in his intent, perhaps both, but whatever the case he decided to take the comment as genuine. "As I am in perfect health Doctor, it would be a waste of resources to perform an exam upon my persons. Your time would be better allocated performing the requisite tests upon those remaining on the crew roster."

"Don't give me none of that Vulcan crap about superior biology! You can get just as sick as the rest of us mere mortals. So you can't logic your damn way out of it. Thirteen hundred means thirteen hundred ya' hobgoblin! Or I'll come with some orderlies, a sedative and a stretcher and drag you down my self!"

"As I had previously stated…" but the man left, disappearing in a flourish of struggling whining limbs; Leaving the Vulcan with an incomplete sentence. Something that grated on the man's nerves immensely, if he were ever to acknowledge feeling any emotions. Humans and all their illogical facets.

With a stony expression Spock left the room to resume duties, door hissing shut behind him. Automatically Nyota's eyes sought him out from across the bridge, as if searching for some sort of reassurance that could be found in his countenance where there was none to be discerned. He knew why she turned to him, why she was hoping he'd alleviate the worry burning behind her umber eyes, but there was nothing to be offered. And she seemed to come to that conclusion for herself, shoulders sagging slightly as she turned back to monitor subspace frequencies. Ensign Greenway was staying and that was that.

While everyone's apprehension and anger were to be expected given the circumstances Spock felt it would best serve the crew if they took into account that the admiralty wouldn't leave her on active duty could she not function adequately. He had read the tribunal, and while many of the accusations levied by Lt. Winsworth were continued without a finding, the only thing that stuck was dereliction of duty. Admittedly it was the worst possible time it could have happened, but it wasn't the first time an officer had done it, though he surmised she got off easy. Greenway could have been dishonorably discharged or sent to prison for at least a year, but given the circumstances and her own admittance of guilt, the admiralty had given her leniency or, as the human say, _'a slap on the wrists'_. Still, even Spock himself felt she would better suit starfleet in some one-manned off-world research facility. There she could quietly achieve minor engineering advancements her academic record suggested she could accomplish. Out of the way, but still productive.

Silently striding over to the command chair Spock motioned Lt. Hikaru to retake his place at the helm and relieved him as acting Captain. Not a second after he'd planted his posterior onto the ergonomic leather of his temporary post, Yeoman Rand appeared by his side, handing him one of his PADD's. Spock gave a nod of acknowledgement and she took her leave. Rand was, in his opinion, the perfect worker. Always professional. To the point where the Captain occasionally harassed her about being part Vulcan. A ludicrous, perhaps rather insulting, notion. She was clearly human.

Moving on from that tangent of thought Spock went about his task. Pulling up the personnel roster he inputed the ensign's name and waited.

 

* * *

 

{ _twenty-five minutes later_ }

 **R** idiculous. How inept was the yeoman in charge of seeing to Miss Greenway. Not only had they lacked the proper forethought to bequeath her the standard communicator and ship inbox upon arrival, but there was also no registered quarters in the system in which one could com to. Was she left in some corridor unattended or did the yeoman poorly manage their time and thus hadn't updated the system. Either way, Spock was displeased at having to locate the misplaced ensign. And if his voice seemed more _"frigid"_ than usual, as Spock should have been well into reviewing the sample analysis from the plants collected on the survey of Xurvus 3, he didn't notice. "Commander Spock to Yeoman Drake."

An instance later a nervous voice hastily responded. To scared not to. "Y-yeoman Drake to Commander Spock. What can I help you with sir?"

"There seems to be difficulty in communicating with Ensign Greenway as the proper supplies were not allocate to her persons upon arrival. As it is in your job description to see that these needs were met I am left wondering wether there was an issue with inventory that I should be made aware of or if you are inept in accomplishing your duties. There are also no registered quarters in her name with where she can be reached. As of now, you are currently on notice. Another incident such as this and there will be a formal reprimand added to your service record. Am I understood Yeoman?"

"Y-Yes sir! Apologies sir," the man simpered. Everyone knew the Vulcan Commander was a stickler for protocols and rules, but the Yeoman himself had never before been under that scrutinizing ire. It's not a particular place anyone wanted to be. Especially if they were trying to hide something, like discriminating and bullying a fellow crew member. A clear violation of starfleet protocol forty-three, subsection B; Code of conduct toward fellow officers.

So, trying to save his hide, Drake took some initiative. After all, he wasn't about to go down for something others orchestrated. Even if he had passively went along with it. "Sir, if I may. I overheard she was wandering around on the sixteenth floor, if you'd like I could go collect her for you."

Spock didn't even need to think on the proffered proposal. Though perhaps if he had, he would have pondered over the Yeoman's quick response and the reasons he might have purposely shirked his duties. "That would be most amiable," the first officer intoned, "See to it that your task is completed in a timely manner as I have other duties to attend. Spock out."

 

 **C** _rap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap_! Arty fidgeted from foot to foot worrying her lip red in nervous energy. This was not how her last rest day was supposed to have panned out. Forcefully shoved into a female uniform one size to small, then pushed into a turbolift by a manic yeoman threatening her to silence, before ultimately being told to report to the first officer on the Bridge. Things could only get worse...

Arty should have been testing out her sonic wand! After all, she was in _desperate_ needed of it. The disgraced engineer looked and smelt like klingon ass warmed over. If her first impression went bad the second could only be infinitely worse. Not exactly regulation. Not that Arty cared how she looked but Vulcans tended to be anal retentive about those things. Those things called rules. Didn't matter if she was on duty or not.

Fretting with the end of the skin tight dress the pristine lift slowed to a soft stop. _No, no, no!_ She wasn't ready yet! However what Arty wanted held no place when the door slid open. The mechanical _woosh_ quietly announcing her to the room, or at least to those paying attention. And if they weren't they soon were. The blonde reflexively stiffened as the unwanted scrutiny sought her out like a biometric guidance system locking on. Not a single happy face greeted her.

Best not to linger like a specter in the doorway. The sooner Arty moved the sooner it was over. Like ripping off a band-aid. Only one that judged and avidly scorned you. Tentatively walking across the room Arty ignored the mocking snickers and dark whispers that followed, as others pretended to ' _work_ ' and not listen. Like they were fooling anyone.

As if sensing her approach to the Captain's chair the dour Vulcan paused to look up from his work, nostrils flared for a millisecond, then leveling Arty with the most imposing stare she'd ever been subjected to. She almost froze under it's weight. Those eyes categorizing and evaluating her in mere seconds. Whatever judgement they concluded Arty knew it most likely wasn't positive. Unfortunately he was all that stood before her and the sweet embrace of retreat. "Ensign Greenway."

Realizing the Vulcan addressed her and need an acknowledgement Arty quickly forced one out. "S-sir?"

An eyebrow raised at the timid squeak that she hoped she wasn't blushing. _It's almost over, it's almost over,_ Arty mentally assured herself. "Ensign, it has come to my attention that you lack the proper communication devices required to work upon this ship. The issue has been addressed and the items will be delivered to your quarters upon the completion of alpha shift. That is not, however, why I have requested your presence."

Oh, that didn't sound at all comforting. Arty knew when a conversation was turning sour. It had been happening to her for the past year after all. _While you're in the top 99.9th percentile...we no longer have confidence in you're abilities. Miss Greenway you were quite the promising officer...but we think it would be better for everyone if you took you're new posting with no fuss. We had good times command-Arty...I just think it'd be inappropriate to hang out, with what happened and all._ Yeah, Arty could read the signs. Even alien ones.

Spock, with all his logical grace and regality, stood up to his full towering height. A good head above Arty but still incredibly imposing. It was almost like the deck dropped a few degrees. "Due to past circumstances I have been assigned as your senior officer in all matters pertaining to regulatory reviews, overviews, and mandates. Meanwhile, Mr. Scott will be your commanding officer in everything that precludes the previously stated. However be forewarned that you are on notice. The events leading up to your removal of rank are unsettling at best," Spock took a moment to linger upon her disheveled uniform before continuing, "I will disregard your lack of decorum for the moment as you are still on leave. Next time I will not do so. You have been given a second chance. Something most do not receive. I suggest you endeavor to give it the serious commitment it warrants. Anything less, one mistake, and I will not hesitate to remove you from this ship. My primary concern is the safety of this vessel and it's inhabitants. Do you understand ensign Greenway?"

Arty swallowed, avoiding eye contact, "...Yes sir."

"Excellent. Report to Lt. Mayburey on deck sixteen at o' six hundred hours. You are dismissed ensign."


	3. Chapter Three: A Simple Mission

 

 

 ** _Stardate 2259.66_ ** _Stameris Sector: Exact coordinates unknown_

_It was everywhere. The fire, the heat, swallowing everything in it’s wake. A gaping maw to a trillion razor sharp teeth eager for flesh and bone. Hungering for more. Always more. Eliciting a twisted choir calling, begging, bargaining, for a death that would never be soon enough. The devils Ostinato never stopped. Never ending and always beginning. It just got louder and louder and louder. Faces melting, hands outstretched, eyes condemning. It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s your fault!_

Arty jolted out of bed chasing imaginary flames from her arms, a wet scream halfway ripped from her chest. Shuddering, gasping, choking for breath; sweat pooled down her face mixing with tears as clarity edged out the terror. She couldn’t survive much more of _this_. It was the twentieth time in no more than five weeks she’d awoken from the vestiges of smoke and fire. It left her sleepless and altered. Eye bags set into skin like chisel to marble and flesh lacked any of its previous luster, a pale imitation of her original state. 

“Alright there ensign?”

Arty jerked. Right. She wasn’t alone. Remembering where she was, the engineer blinked away tear remnants and turned to Officer Lamson; only able to find him from the illumination of the two moons cresting above. “Y-yeah, nightmare. No worries.”

A non-committal grunt was her only response. Not that she expected much. The security Officer wasn’t one for big conversations, more inclined to sit back, listen, and catalogue. It’s why he was good at his job. Without him they might have all been dead. 

If one was wondering why, well it all started when the _Enterprise_ ran into some trouble a week and a half ago. They had just answered an SOS only to find out it was a lure set by slavers to ensnare passing vessels. After a tense six hour firefight the _Enterprise_ came out on top. While they put a stop to the illegal activity it wasn’t without sustaining considerable damage. It was three vs. one after all.

So, after limping to the closest friendly space port for repair parts, Command had asked the crew to look in on Second Hope, a federation colony on the nearby planet Argo, as they hadn’t been heard from for over a couple of months. Normally an easy peesy mission, but the aforementioned space battle left them a little short staffed and the ship a bit handicapped to travel farther down the star system for a wellness check. It was decided, however, to send a small away team in one of the little W1 transport shuttles to have a lookie-lou; the lost contact was most likely due to a damaged long ranged communication array from a hurricane that hit them around the same time. It was a milkrun mission.

Since the flight there would take a full day at warp one (the max for a small craft) and about six days to repair any weather damage, no one was expecting them back for about a week. They being a team of five. It was all that could be spared then. There were the two security officers, Lamson and Norton, a medical officer, Nurse Childs, a science officer, but a command officer was also needed, so Spock was the logical choice there, and one engineer, someone that couldn’t at that moment be spared⎯well almost. There was only _one_ engineer not being utilized. Which led Arty to her current predicament.

That low risk job turned out not to be as simple as thought.… 

 

* * *

 

 

 **_Stardate 2259.60_ ** _(six days ago) 41.49 clicks from Argo_

_“Voomph!”_

Arty Greenway woke with a start as the small craft dropped out of warp, head hitting the jump seat. She winced at the smarting bump. Damn. Just couldn’t catch a break. Not even wanting to be there in the first place, the engineer had been content to hide away in her room forever, but karma knew her email address. So there she was being punished. Again.

It had been a long haul trapped in the teeny tiny tin bucket with four other people, two of which actively hated her, one that treated her with professional indifference though probably didn’t like her, and one that held no emotional opinion of her what so ever. All in all, not the happiest environment. Not to mention officer Norton had nearly thrown a bitch fit over Orvil tagging along for the job. Begrudgingly Nurse Childs confirmed she was allowed to and Spock even stated Federation law required them to allow Arty a service animal. The Vulcan was unintentionally reliable like that. Who knew.

Peering around the Cabin she saw said Commander manning the controls with Lamson, plotting their descent course. Her first few weeks adjusting back to ship life he’d been a rock in a hurricane. While he did her no favors, nor provided friendship, or actively sought out her company, he was inadvertently her emotional support. Not that he knew that. An odd place for one to seek comfort, she was aware, but his stoic non-emotional (albeit intimidating) countenance was refreshing. Their mandatory meetings and reviews were strangely enough the one place she could take a breath an not choke on the crews negativity. He was the only person she’d found no judgement from. Unless it had to do with her work ethic. Not that there was anything wrong with her ethic, she’d heard no complaints nor held any.

Okay that wasn’t true. Arty did have complaints but it wasn’t as if she could do anything about it. Report it, sure, but that wouldn’t guarantee it’d stop, just get worse and harder to prove.

 Now the engineer understood why she received the worst work orders, i.e. unclogging Jason Pollock toilet nightmares. The worst jobs only ever corresponded with _her_ work schedule. It was clearly intentional by a portion of the crew. One scroll through previous work histories, months before her arrival, proved that theory. Most of the orders were primarily maintenance related. Now there were about twelve disasters every shift, most that left her working overtime to repair. It wouldn’t be decent to make her coworkers clean up or fix what resulted from her failings. They did nothing wrong. It wasn’t done to hurt them. It was done to hurt _her_. So Arty put up with the passive aggressive harassment, not once kicking up a fuss from her assignments. She just quietly accepted it.

Speaking of harassment, Officer Norton still asleep in his seat, was one of her more well known, to her at least, bullies. An obvious crony and friend to Lt. Winsworth he was often seen leaving disaster areas she was expected to clean. More alarming, when she left her room or went about work, he would stalk her across the ship. At first she thought his rounds just coincided with her activities but after she caught him suddenly working out in the gym, when she did (when no one was around), a time at which normal people on beta shift slept (not her obviously) Arty caught on. Now, whenever possible, she used the Jefferies tubes to travel from floor to floor, a labyrinth like maze behind the ships walls no one utilized. A place mostly only engineers knew of. Hopefully he never caught on.

“Hey, secure your rodent. I don’t want him freaking out all over me when we start to land,” Nurse Childs sneered from the aft of the ship, arms crossed. 

“Orvil’s not a rodent,” Arty corrected gathering her furry friend from the floor as he chittered in greeting,” he-he’s a spacefaring Barillian Monkey.”

She scoffed. “Whatever it is, just keep it away from me. I don’t know if it’s had all it’s shots.”

Arty took offense but, held her tongue, resenting the implication. Sensing her mood, said little monkey snuggled into her stomach with a purr. Deflating, the engineer refocused her attentions between patting her friend and watching their destination get closer and closer to the view screen. 

Argo was relatively a quiet jungle planet with few predators and rich in nutrient soils. It’s why it made such a good farming colony. One of the few communally owned, it’d somehow managed to survive without corporate protections. Wherein just past the veil of the neutral zone, most colonies ran into problems with pirates, slavers, and Klingons; Argo had yet to run into any. This due to the EMP ballistas and long range defense weapons the population of a thousand immediately installed upon settling. Rumor had it that an influential Admiral retired there and set them up with the tech. 

The only downside to the green and purple marble was that every year they were bombarded with monsoons come late winter due to the slight rise in temperature. Why they didn’t take proper precautions was odd as the storms were pretty punctual. Perhaps they were hit with a particularly strong one this stretch. Not that Arty had anymore time to muse on the subject once the seatbelt light pinged on.

3.22 clicks away from the exosphere of the planet had the shuttle starting to lightly bounce, prompting anyone not strapped in, or awake, to pull the belt buckles across their chests. The part that came next was not a time to be unsecured. Not one to miss a beat, Mr. Spock addressed the crew with final mission prep as he began maneuvering their downward climb past the mesosphere. The ship vibrated.

“When docked we will split into groups. Officer Lamson, Nurse Childs, upon our subsequent departure of the craft we shall proceed to town hall to inquire upon the colonies status. Wherein, should it be accepted, we will offer our assistance. Officer Norton, Ensign Greenway, you two will progress to the Array station on the outskirts of town to assess the damage, however do not start restoration. Report your findings and what repairs are needed to reestablish operations first-”

“Commander,” Lamson interrupted with a growl, “their Ballistas are locking on.”

The room inhaled. Shit. An EMP would short their circuits, cut power, and send them hurtling in a ball of fire before breaking apart towards the planet. They needed to leave. The Vulcan, undaunted by the news, reprioritized, “Their short range communications may be operational, attempt to hail them.”

“They’re on, but I’m receiving no response. I’ll keep trying.”

“Negative,” Spock contradicted, “it could be used to give them a more accurate lock onto our position. Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”

Suddenly the ship took a nose dive, rattling and shaking violently. For a moment the crew floated listlessly mid air, Officer Norton became an interesting shade of green, before being slammed back into their seats. G-force was a bitch. Norton screamed over the noise, “Sir, shouldn’t we ascend out of range?”

“Negative. I have calculated the probability of us out running the blast radius to be .0012%. We have approximately 7.68 seconds before they can discharge. Our safest route is to descend past the stratosphere, decelerate by 53%, then run at a twenty degree angle perpendicular to the ground.”

“But won’t we still crash! You’re going to kill us,” Nurse Childs screeched trying to unbuckle herself. Attempting to placate her hysteria Arty strived to explain what those without a mathematical degree didn’t understand, “W-we’ll crash, we’re gonna crash regardless of which way we go, but at that speed and drop will have a better chance at controlling it. We could survive…in theory. While going in the other direction will ensure we die.”

“Like anything you say can be trusted! You who couldn’t even do your job properly,” Childs snarled fighting with the release. “Jessica stop it,” Norton shouted at the woman, “You’re going to fucking get yourself killed!”

“Miss Childs do not remove your safety belt,” Spock intoned from the front of the cabin gripping the controls. His instructions went unheeded though, the woman too focused on her task and Arty to hear them. “They all died because of you! You murdered them! You murdered them,” she hollered face strained and red, “and now you’re going to kill us too. If this is it you can’t get away with what you did, you fucking-”

“JESSICA SIT DOWN!”

“Miss Childs that was a direct order.”

“Pull up, pull up now sir.”

“-BITCH!!!” 

Screaming, the belt unlocked with a click and Childs raced across the shuttle, arms outstretched. It took half a second for her fingers to find the engineers neck and a quarter second to cut off her air. At that moment a few things happened simultaneously. One, the ship jerked to an angle. Two, Lamson cursed. Three an EMP blast not only knocked out power but their trajectory. What happened next was a fast blur of screaming and loud terrifying noises.

_VRRRRRRRRRRR_

Childs lost her grip and cracked her back against an arm rest with a pained wail.

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

She bawled. The ship began to barrel roll.

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

Norton, the closest to the injured nurse, had the presence of mind to try and grab her. But it was to late. “Jessica!”

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

The woman tumbled around the room with cries and shrieks, limbs crunching and breaking into odd angles. Arty tried to make a grab for her.

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

She missed and received a kick to the head. Orvil squealed, hanging onto her for dear life.

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

Childs hurtled towards her, Arty braced for impact, ready to grab her, when the woman's face slammed scant inches from her own. _SNAP!_

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

The engineer had a millisecond to register the horror at the 90 degree angle the nurses neck bent, brown eyes flickered and dulled staring into turquoise ones, before the body continued it tumbles cycle throughout the cabin. Arty retched. Norton sobbed.

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

The shuttle shuddered, loud metallic screeches permeated the hull. Paneling on the outside started to break apart. Bolts became projectiles popping off, rocketing holes through the walls and equipment. One shot right thru Norton’s bicep. An earsplitting noise drowned his anguished wail.

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

Suddenly air whipped viciously around as Arty’s momentum pivoted, she held Orvil in fright. It took a moment to register what transpired as one second she was looking at metal walls and a mangled corpse, the next clouds and jungle twisted and bled into a kaleidoscope of color around her. A large section of the starboard had ripped off from the shuttle. The one  _she_ happened to be strapped too!

_VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR_

Sky, land, sky, land, sky, land. A thunderous sound resonated behind her through the trees, not that she registered what it was as she hurtled farther and farther down. The ground reached up to meet her.

_CRACK,CRACK, BOOM!!!_

It all went black. But not before Arty mind registered one last impulse. Pain.

 


	4. Chapter Four: Welcome to Argo

** **

 

 

 **_Stardate 2259.60_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: 5.62 clicks from New hope_

 

“Commander are you okay? Are you injured?”

Spock blinked. Was he injured? What an asinine query. There was no question about his condition. There were clear visual indicators one could observe, but humans were marketably repetitive. He could feel the blood dripping out from around the small bits of glass imbedded on his face caused by the crash. If he were to move the Vulcan was sure he’d find a few cracked ribs, a possibly bruised sternum and whiplash. However it was nothing immediately life threatening as of yet. 

“My injuries are not substantial. A fortuitous occurrence as we will have to leave. The settlement is likely to send out a party to check the remains of the wreckage. As of right now, we must assume they are hostile in their intentions,” The commander side eyed Officer Lamson noting he favored his left half, arm gripping his midriff, “Are you able to move?”

“Y-yeah, nothing a few ace bandages and a regenerator can’t fix,” the man winced unbuckling himself, “I’m not sure about everyone else. Norton how are you guys back there? I heard a lot of noise.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, Jessica’s dead. She unbuckled herself before the blast. Oh god why would she do that! We had the same flight training, she knew what would happen. I’ve never seen anything so-so-it was-her body-the angles-her neck _BLERGH_ ,” The traumatized officer quickly unbuckled then dropped to the floor retching. He threw up till he was left with only a dry heave. Coughing, Norton took a moment to continue, “Then the hull breached on the starboard side and sucked her body out. I don’t understand. Why did they fire at us? We were coming to help. She didn’t have to die!”

It took a millisecond to catalogue the lack of any mention to Ensign Greenway. Spock unlocked and stood up, noting the absence of starboard, wires and twisted metal hung off where it should be. “What of ensign Greenway.”

“Dead Sir. No way she survived that.”

Spock felt a twinge at the loss. She may have not been what was best for the _Enterprise_ but in no way did she deserve death, neither of the women did. He can’t account for Miss Childs, as they had no intersecting contact, but Artemis Greenway had begun marked improvement. She threw herself fully into what most considered a menial or demeaning job, even going so far as to take a larger work load than her coworkers. She almost clocked more overtime than he did. He was sure by the end of her commission, baring she stay the course, he would have been sending a letter of recommendation to a solo research outpost of her choosing. Now that would no longer occur.

Spock looked upon his remaining team, battered, bloody, and grieving in the shell of their shuttle. The Captain would know what to say to rally them, but as a Vulcan he did not have it in him to coddle the men. They did not have the time. “As unfortunate the circumstances we find ourselves in are, please refrain from giving yourself over to emotion like Nurse Childs found herself doing. We are in a precarious position with unknown variables at play. Our priority is to find as much supplies as we can from the wreckage, leave, then attempt to contact the _Enterprise._ ”

“In case you haven’t noticed all the hardware on this thing is junk! There _is_ no way to call the _Enterprise_ , so this is the perfect time to give in to _emotions_ ,” Officer Norton sneered picking himself up. “That is not wholly true,” Spock stated, “There is one place we known that does in fact have what we need. With careful planning and scouting it is achievable.”

The angered security officer scowled, dubious of any plan the unfeeling alien could come up with, after all, to him, the Vulcan appeared to see everyone else as just zero’s and one’s. Like Jessica. God Jessica. The Commander didn’t even blink at her death, no he just asked after the Starfleet Reject. What kind of priority is that! Speaking of, “Oh yeah!? One problem with that, we no longer have an engineer! And don’t you think people will notice someone tampering with a long range communications array!? Jessica was right, you’re gonna get us killed.”

Spock went ridged, eyes sharpening before he rounded on his subordinate, “I will overlook your insubordinate lapse this once Officer Norton in light of the circumstances. It won’t happen again.”

“He's right though,” Lamson interject, but quickly backpedaled when the Vulcan honed his cold brown eyes on him, “Not the last bit, the part before that. We need an engineer sir. While gathering the tech will be dangerous, but doable, it’ll be worthless if we can’t utilize it.”

“Then you are fortuitous, as I happen to understand the mechanics of engineering and can effectuate said principals.”

“Yeah well,” Norton argued tearing off a piece of his shirt, “what if they catch onto your plan. What then?”

“Then we retreat to a safe location and await a rescue _._ The _Enterprise_ will notice our missed rendezvous in eight days and come to investigate when they can’t hail the colony,” Spock stated. If he were human, one would say he were annoyed by the further line of inquiry, but he’s not, so his eyes don’t narrow a fraction like he did the moment Norton once more opened his gob. The man should’ve been more concerned about his arm than possibilities. Instead he continued to debate logistics. “Well, what if-”

“Norton give it a rest. We need to move out. You know this. Shut up and follow orders,” Lamson growled as he limped out of the cabin before popping his head back in. He threw a small white box to which the other security officer barely caught with his one uninjured arm. “And patch up that arm, we don’t need your blood to attract the wrong kind of attention.” 

“Indeed. It will be nightfall soon and we will want to have adequate shelter by then lest we risk the wildlife and detection.”

Norton fumbled with opening the box, then froze, “The wildlife?”

“Yes. Did you not read the full mission brief on the local fauna and flora?”

“No, why?”

 

 

 **_Stardate 2259.60_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: Somewhere in the Jungle_

 

_EEEERRU_

_Gasp._ Arty sucked in a giant greedy breath before coughing, groaning in pain. “Fuck. What? Who?”

She blinked, brain fuzzy, spinning, body heavy with sweat and grime. Something dripped down her face, but she couldn’t tell what it was, as her eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness. Wait, darkness? What happened? Where was she? Were the lights off in her room? What was going on? Was that a noise? Was someone in there with her!? Arty went to get up but found herself held in place by some invisible force. She panicked. “NO!”

Arms flailing she scrambled for purchase before pressing some button that granted freedom. The engineer went to move but fell in a heap on the ground with a cry. _What!?_

Something was wrong with her leg. Sharpshooting pain traveled up her nerve endings, blinding and sharp. She was afraid to look but instinctually did so anyway and immediately wish she hadn’t. If the blonde thought the pain was bad before it was so much worse after seeing the damage; didn’t matter that it was partially hidden in shadows and that she lost her glasses. There, speared through her thigh, was a jagger piece of rebar. She let out a sob, “Ngah-ha!”

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_ Oh, this wasn’t good. Arty remembered. She remembered the attack, the descent, then the free fall and the crash. Shit, she must have blacked out from the impact. Dammit! How long was she out? It was night time she knew that much. “No,” the engineer reprimanded herself, “priorities! Who cares about that. Oh my leg. Oh my leg. Oh please don’t be next to an artery, please, please, please, please.”

Taking a couple courageous inhalations she propped herself onto her elbows, wailing when the movement jostled the pole. Forcing herself to still Arty held her breath, and waited. And prayed. And thanked what ever higher power that existed when the bar didn’t move once, if it had it would’ve meant it was lying on an artery, jumping in tandem with her pulse. Still. Better safe than sorry though.

Searching the small barely lit clearing, with minimal effort and motion, her hand hit against a winch attached to a tie down. It must have fallen off the small pallet of equipment when the hull breached. And since she couldn’t make out any small white glowing medical kits it’d have to do. Gritting her teeth Arty suppressed a howl and maneuvered herself to lean against the wreckage of the starboard seats. Pushing through the pain the engineer wrapped the tie down around the pole then her leg, repeating this till the rebar was stabilized on both sides.

She had options. Arty always did. She could have just pulled the pole out, but that risked bleeding out and if the monster headache was any indication then the blonde had a concussion, which meant that the secret that had saved her life before couldn’t be counted on to do so again. _Fuck._ Because she couldn’t stay where she was. Survival training at the academy taught that. However mobility was limited with a big piece of rebar that would snag on every branch, tree, and vine in the jungle surrounding her. Not to mention she didn’t want to put pressure on the wound. What Arty needed was surgery, but what she was left with was finding something to use as a crutch. If she was lucky maybe she’d find a blow torch to whittle the metal down. If only she could see properly. Everything looked menacing to her. Fuzzy, but menacing. Fuzzy…. “ORVIL!!!”

Fuck. How did she forget about her best friend! “Orvil! Where are you! Buddy!? Please be alive! Orvil!”

Her voice was swallowed into the inky gloom of the looming jungle, the only answer strange and unnerving animal calls that creeped from the canopy bed. None were the one she wanted to hear. “Please, Orvil, please, I don’t want to be alone again…”

There was no response to her warbled plea though. Arty shuttered for air, barely holding it together. It was like the past few years things had conspired against her happiness. When ever she had it someone or something else took it from her. It was just…no, NO! She refused to wallow! Where was his little body? Till she saw him for her own eyes he was out there, somewhere, injured…alone…afraid, but he was waiting. Cause she hadn’t let go, through the whole fall she hadn’t once let go of him. He just had to be alive. Somewhere. He had to be…

But he wasn’t going to find himself! She needed to get things in order. First things first, a makeshift crutch. Squinting for anything long and sturdy enough she spotted something on the other side of the shallow miniature crater made from the landing. Using her upper body the blonde dragged herself across the moist damp soil, something akin to raking herself across fire and glass. Sweat dripped from the exertion mixing with the liquid already leaking from her face, most likely blood but she couldn’t tell.

It was a long range sniper rifle. Arty stared at the odd manifestation. It wasn’t the standard milk run mission gear. Hell, normal Starfleet tactical gear never equipped weapons like that. It was military grade, the kind given to space marines, but definitely not Starfleet. So what was it doing in her shuttle wreck? Well, however it got there, it was now a crutch. It was empty anyway. There was no plasma battery. So no charge. Whatever. Now for the hard part.

 “This is going to suck,” Arty grimaced. she went to get up, or she would have if something red hadn’t caught her attention. “Oh,oh! That could work.”

Putting the gun on her lap she crab walked, on one leg mind you, toward a red blur. A red blur that turned into a tool box. Opening the lid Arty was both dismayed and thankful. Thankful because A, it was DL2 compounded lead lined box, thus it's contents would have survived the EMP and B, there was something she could use inside. That's were her luck ended though, because inside was a 3rd generation hyper saw; those caused vibration which meant it would aggravate her injury. Damn. Couldn’t engineering have parted with one measly laser saw.

Arty flicked on the switch, a loud whirring permeated the night. Gulping, she steeled herself and brought the blade ever closer to the bar, “Here goes nothing.”

Sparks flew, a brief beacon in the night, before smoking out in the moist earth. The engineer screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more fun stuff in the next chapter. sorry ^_^'


	5. Chapter Five: A Survivors Guide of What Not to Do

 

 

 ** _Stardate 2259.63_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: Somewhere in the Jungle_

 

“Over here!!”

A squalid blonde human waved over his compatriots, all similarly dispositioned as the rain poured in massive globs. Trudging through the wet underbrush six men converged to where the blonde was hunched over. He pointed his phaser at the ground where a boot print branded the soil, “Look. She must’ve come through here just recently, they’re not completely filled with rainwater yet.”

“Alright, everybody fan out,” a large hook nosed man demanded, “She’s close by. But whatever you do don’t kill her, the boss has some questions that need answering and she can’t do that dead. That means weapons set to stun!”

Grim faced and determined they all nodded and dispersed, save two. The blonde took out his communicator, “I’ll call it in. We can have everybody over here in ten minutes, she won’t get away this time.”

The hook nosed man held his hand out to stop him, “No need. She’s injured, there’s no way she’s out running us. Calling everyone in is a waste of man power. We need them to keep mining, the job’s almost done.”

“Alright, it’s your call Greg. Don’t know why we just don’t kill her though, she’s not gonna talk. She’s starfleet, they’ve been trained not to.”

“Oh, she’ll talk,” Greg smiled with entirely to many teeth, “After a couple rounds with VanStatten she’ll talk. He got that defense technician to give him the codes didn’t he.”

The other man sighed, like it was a conversation that’d been rehashed over and over again. “Yeah and like an idiot he killed him. Now we’re stuck on this rock for seven months because none of us know how to fix an array or a ship.”

“If I have to hear you whine about that one more time I’ll shoot you in the head myself,” he growled in exasperation, “now stop slacking and get to work boy George so we can get dry and out of this shit hole.”

George flipped him off before disappearing into the undergrowth. Greg went to move after him but paused when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something in the forest was watching him. Damn place gave him the creeps. Ever since he came to Argo he avoided the jungles as much as possible. Something wasn’t right about it. He’d heard of people going missing before. Of some strange creature hunting colonists in the night. Just an urban legend everyone had told him. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but why chance it. The sooner they got out of there the better. He took one more moment to look around, searching the shadows, before he walked off.

A sigh went unheard from underneath a thicket of leaves. Carefully they slopped off a figure that sat up. Arty, drenched, cold, and pitiful, strained her hearing as far as she could, weighing wether she should continue to hide or make a dash for it. The scary guy was right however, she wouldn’t get far with her bum leg. But she couldn’t stick around either, one of the lug heads was bound to trip over her. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Just like with that stupid saw.

 

* * *

{ _One Day Previous_ }

 

Arty jolted awake, promptly belting out a string of curses. Shit. Not again. Sometime between sawing off the last bit of rebar, and then, she must have passed out from the pain. Speaking of, dried blood ran down from what couple of inches of metal she’d left in, crusting over the tie down. The only indicator that a significant amount of time had passed. Well, that and it was daytime.

“I left the body over here.”

Arty went rigid at the voice coming just behind the tall mossy trees to her left. That, that did not sound like anyone from her away team. Fuck. The engineer looked around, she had to think fast. Fueled by the ever present looming peril she hefted herself up with the rifle and made a beeline for the south tree line. However due to her injuries she was slow moving and only just had enough time to make it behind a large tree as two men came trampling out of the thick underbrush.

“Body!? You brought me out here to show me a corpse! For christ sake if I wanted to see one I’d just walk into town you numbskull,” a short stocky man cuffed the younger one in the head. The young man in the red bandana snarled, “You didn’t let me finish Terence! Just let me finish my thoughts. Jeez!”

“Well go on then.”

“Shut up, I’m getting to it. Anyway, so, over by the body there was a Barillian monkey. The dead chick must’ve owned it or somethin’ because the little bugger put up hell ov' a fight when I got near ‘er, but he ran off when I tried ta grab ‘im. He’s probably still close by. I need your help wranglin’ ‘im,” the younger man grinned, “Those things go for a lot of creds on the blackmarket. I’d be nice pocket change till the boss man divvies up the profit when we finally sells the goods.”  

“Alright, so where this the body then?”

“Are you blind! It’s right-,” the man broke off surveying the wreckage. His eyes lingered on the empty seat of the partial ship. Before frantically running around the crash site. “Oh shit, oh shit! The bitch was right there, I swear to god! O-one of those carnivorous ape creatures must have got at the body. Yeah that’s it.”

“If a Garillizard got at her you’d know. There’d be bits of viscera hangin’ from the treetops and blood painting the forest floor,” Terence informed him. He drew closer to the seats, noticing markings etched into the ground. Something must have dragged her away.

The small man blinked, eyes narrowed at the shiny substance penetrating the soil. Crouching down he swiped a finger through the stuff, rubbed it between them, sniffed it, then licked. His younger friend Gagged, “Ew, dude. Why’d you do that!? That’s nasty, any kind of animal could have shat there. Gross.”

“It’s blood you idiot, I can taste the Copper,” he grunted, “I don’t think your girl’s dead. Someone had to unhook the seat belt and look, she dragged herself all the way over there. Did you even check a pulse?”

The other guy stilled. “Well, no…but I didn’t think I had to. There was a big metal pole stickin’ out of ‘er leg bleeding away. She didn’t appear to be breathin’ either, people don’t survive that shit!”

“Oh. My. God. You’re and idiot,” the smaller adult griped. Pulling out a comm device he rolled his eyes at the other male. “Hey, this is Terence, I’m about seven clicks away from the settlement. Joe found the other half of the ship yesterday and kept it to himself,” he scoffed, “Apparently when he did, there was a body here, that’s now missing. She appears to have fled into the jungle. She couldn’t have gotten far though, since apparently she injured her leg in the crash from a piece of rebar. What do you want us to do? We don’t exactly have to go hunting for her, she’ll die on her own from injuries like that.”

Arty tensed hidden from their view, keeping as quiet as possible the bark dug into her back. She hoped--no she prayed--they’d just leave her to the jungle. It was a better odds that way. Although she had no idea if the others made it. Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. There she was worrying just about herself and Orvil, and had yet to even consider the rest of the away team. She really was as horrible as people said.

 _Cschick!_ “Negative. Bossman wants her alive. Needs to know why she’s here and how long before Starfleet sends more people. Start looking, we’re sending a search party your way now,” the voice over the comm informed. Terence huffed irritatedly, looking up at the sky. Dark ominous clouds rolled above, fat and heavy. His partner groaned, “It’s about ta rain! Can’t we do this ’n an hour once the storms past.” 

“It’s a jungle planet, it’s always raining. Now quite your bitching and get moving Brenner. That same rain will make it easier for us to track her. You take the east and I’ll take north. Circle back here in twenty minutes.”

The engineer quickly whipped her head back just as Brenner turned her way. _Baktag*!_ Oh, he was coming right towards her! _Not good. Not good._ Arty had to think fast. She couldn’t run, but he was going to find her. Plus more were coming. Maybe, just maybe, if she timed it right she could knock him out. Except with her dumb leg it needed to be a one hit knock out, cause it’d be hard to win an all out fight at that point. Which meant she need a weapon. And quickly from the sounds of twigs cracking underfoot that got closer. Looking for something to use, the blonde started to panic. Right, nothing, left, nothing, up, nothing, down-. _Snap!_

Swinging her head to the left Arty came face to face with Brenner. Both froze. Surprised brown eyes connected with turquoise ones and an unnatural stillness settled over them. A stillness that was promptly broken when the blonde, without a thought, smashed the butt of the empty rifle into the mans face. _Thump!_

He went down like a sack of 18mm wrenches taking Arty along for the ride. It took a full minute to use all her self control not to swear from the pain. _Mother of fucking pearls!_ Why couldn’t anything be easy.

Not wanting to move, but knowing she had to, the engineer started to heft herself up when her hand smacked something metallic. And it wasn’t her crutch. A quick check found a phaser attached to the unconscious mans belt. A working phaser. 

Jackpot.

Wrestling it from it’s holster Arty punched the air in silent victory… just as the heavens loosed a flood of water with a booming rumble. Never easy.

With a miserable sigh the now soaked blonde got up and made her way further into the jungle, only to get smacked in the face with giant wet leaves every few inches. And yet, even with the present threat and emotional turmoil, it was a beautiful place to behold. Lush purple moss creeped upon vines, rocks, and long ropey tall tree trunks. Colorful birds flittered about the treetops in musical tandem, occasionally coming to the forest floor for grub, worming out of the drenched soil. The air was crisp, fresh. Not the recycled shit found on space vessels. It could be a zen paradise if not for the men with guns hunting her.

As if summoned through black magic, the low hum of a hover car flew above the canopy, disturbing the animals roosting there. Compressed air pushed branches to and fro violently, loosening the water collected as it traveled past Arty. It was slow going traversing farther away from the crash site, and she wasn’t nearly far enough not to be found quickly once the craft landed. Against her better judgement the engineer began to speed up, accidentally putting pressure on her leg every now and again. Thru gritted teeth she kept from hollering.

The more ground she gained the closer she got to a loud deafening noise. Seeing the bright opening in the foliage up ahead she went for it. “HEY!”

Arty whirled around at the call in alarm. Fifty feet away was Terence, running at her full pelt. Without a second thought, and years of training drilled into her head, the engineer put the phaser on stun and fired. First time she missed by half an inch, the blast echoing throughout the forest scaring up the birds. The second about the same, it wasn’t till the fifth time, when the man went to counter with his own gun, that Arty shot him before he even raised it. Again this caused and echo, and with it, drew attention. She could hear people shouting in the distance, getting ever closer.

Not one to wait for trouble the engineer made it past the opening, but immediately grabbed hold of the nearest branch to catch herself with. Causing her to let go of the rifle. It fell into a raging river, disappearing into it’s violent depths. Arty officially hated this planet. While logically she knew the sudden down pour must have caused a flash flood, creating the torrent rapids before her. In her heart she felt Argo was actively trying to kill her. Nothing good had yet to happen.

_PHHHSSSSUUU!!!_

Arty ducked when the plants next to her lit up with phaser fire. Crap. Behind her ominous dark blurs made their way towards her. Partially covered behind a tree, right on the edge of the river bed, she returned fire.  As she did so her mind panicked, searching for a solution. She couldn’t go forward, she couldn’t go back, and eventually they would be close enough to outflank her. Not to mention she couldn't see for shit, so eighty percent of the time she missed, which wasted the charge, meaning eventually she wouldn’t have a weapon to defend herself with. All of which left her with one really bad option. But sometimes one really bad option was all you had.

Knowing her next move could end poorly for her, possibly deadly even, it was better than the painful alternative of torture she would have to endure from the men trying to capture her. No thanks. Waiting for the opportune time, holding her ground, Arty noticed a large black object traveling down the rapids. Hoping for the best she seized the moment. And jumped.

_Splash!_

By serendipity that blur was a log. One the engineer clung to for dear life as the rapids thrashed her up and down, father into the jungle. _Bam! Bam! Bam!_ She smashed into trees jerking her this way and that, beating water into her face. Arty sputtered and coughed, trying to keep the H2O out of her lungs. This is not what she signed up for. No wonder redshirts had the highest mortality rate. Look where she was. Scrambling for purchase on a flimsy piece of drift wood in natures pinball game. She screamed, “Milkrun mission my ass!”

Not that anyone could hear her over the violent rushing water. Officially done with the angry cousin of the lazy river, Arty looked for any low hanging branches she could grab nearby. It would be twenty terror filled minutes before she found any.

 

* * *

 

 **_Stardate 2259.63_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: Somewhere in the Jungle_

After having escaped the rapids Arty had set up camp further inland, where strange and abnormal noise kept her from sleep. Not to mention the onset of hypothermia didn’t help things. It wasn’t until day break she realized she was in any trouble, when probably about a mile from her position she heard the echoes of phaser fire. 

It wasn’t till an hour and a half later she realized how they were tracking her so well, when she noticed her phaser’s battery a percent more depleted than it should be. A cursory look found a small tracking device implanted in it. Most likely so it wasn’t to get lost. Still. Had she been in the right state of mind it would have been the first thing Arty would have thought to check for. The engineer made a small detour to throw it into the river. It didn’t fool them forever though, as six hours later found herself hiding under leaves while a small party searched her area. Which brought her back to the predicament of how to she was going to save her ass. A daunting task indeed.

_PHHHSSSSUUU!!!_

_PHHHSSSSUUU!!!_

_PHHHSSSSUUU!!!_

“My bad,” someone called out, “It was just a bird. False alarm!”

Arty disappeared back down underneath the foliage. There were too many of them swarming the area to chance escape. She’d have to wait it out. A scary thought. Since the engineer need to move to warm up. Even in the low nineties, the cold that had settled in her bones the night before had thus far kept it’s occupancy. Yet, she was beginning to suspect it had more to due with blood loss by that point. The stuff had been steadily coming out at a slow sluggish pace around the rebar since her trip down the deluge. Of course now that she was forced to stay still maybe it’d stop.

As if to be contrary a round of body tremors sent more leaves slopping to the ground. Or not. Who was she kidding, Arty could barely keep her teeth from chattering, let alone keep her body from moving. Thankful the continuous rain drowned out most of the noise her involuntary motions made. It also had the unfortunate side effect of granting the same privileges to any ballerina footed henchmen scouring the forest. Arty snorted. Now wasn’t that an image. 

_Thump._

The sudden noise captured her attention. Taught with tension, she strained her ears but there was no follow up. No, ‘Ah ha! I’ve found you!’ or ‘Over here!’ just the tap, tap, tapping of a downpour hitting leaves. Minutes past before Arty began to relax once more. _Crack!_

This sound was much closer than the other. The engineer prepared her self for discovery, grabbing a rock for protection. Greenways always went down swinging. Suddenly a scream rent the air. One that wasn’t hers. 

PHHHSSSSUUU!!!

_PHHHSSSSUUU!!!_

_PHHHSSSSUUU!!!_

“Hel-!”

“Behind you-!”

_PHHHSSSSUUU!!!_

A barrage of blasts rang through the forest. Then, as sudden as the violence came, silence. Arty held her breath in anticipation. Waiting for what was next. Was it a ploy meant to draw her out? Dissent amongst the ranks? Or worse, predators hunting from the tree tops with a keen nose for blood. A abrupt sniff to her right had her leaning towards predator. Something rustled behind the large vegetation concealing her, pulling it out of the way. Arty gripped her rock tighter.

“Ensign Greenway.”

“Commander Spock?”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Baktag: Klingon swear for shit or garbage.
> 
> btw comments help me write faster, cause then I feel horrible when I make people wait to long, but good cause it lets me know people are reading my story. :)


	6. Chapter Six: Found But Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any mistakes. I finished this half awake so the end might get kind of weak. I'll probably come back and edit it later today. So sorry in advanced. ^_^' Also sorry it's kinda short. But I didn't want to make people wait to long.

**_ _ **

 

 **_Stardate 2259.63_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: The Deep Jungle_

Arty was delusional.

That was the conclusion she came to when face to face with stoic Commander Spock. After all, in the vastness of the Argonian jungle what was the likelihood they would ever cross paths. Infinitesimal at best. And despite being roughed up he looked like the cover from those cheesy Harlequin novels Lt. Mayburey pretended he didn’t read. Water dripping down his face only to pool into his slightly ripped shirt. Which only brought attention to how the wet shirt hugged every muscle and ab like-. Whoa, where did that come from. Okay. Arty must have lost more blood than she was aware of.

“Holy shit! Have you been running around with that sticking out of your leg!” 

Blinking the engineer looked down at the rebar then over to a paling _‘Norton’_ and couldn’t help but start to laugh. And hiccup, and laugh, and hiccup, falling into a hysterical pattern. She tried to stop, really she did, it was dangerous if she continued, but it’s just, the whole situation was crap, and the only person who seemed to care was the hallucination of someone who would’ve cared less. This was apparently funny to her concussed brain.

“Norton, keep it down,” an armed Lamson ordered before peering down at Arty, “Greenway I’m going to need you to stop laughing. I have no idea if we got all the unfriendlies and you’re attracting attention.”

At this point the engineer didn’t care. She was done. Let them find her. The hallucinations were the last straw. This game of cat and mouse was going to end with her dead anyway, why not get it over with. Why draw out the inevitable, why prolong the pain, the agony, the-, “MOTHER OF FUCKING GOD!!”

Arty grabbed her leg and rocked back and fourth, gazing up at Commander Spock in shocked horror. Then proceeded to scoot back from him as far as she could. The bastard had went and grabbed the rebar and jerked it slightly. Even the security officers were peering at him in disbelief.

“Why?! Why would you do that!!”

Spock tilted his head slightly as if examining a particular bothersome bacteria under a microscope. It was unnerving. “I concluded from your responses that you thought us to be mere fictions of your mind, and thus supplied a jolt of stimulus to disavow that incorrect assumption, and ground you firmly back into reality. While painful, it was necessary.”

The normally demure woman glared up at her superior. With everything going on her social anxieties had yet to catch up with her. At that point she was just to miserable to care. “But that hurt.”

“It was not done with malicious intent.”

“You could’ve just pinched me. Hell, a smack to the face would’ve been better,” Arty reasoned with a snarl. It would’ve been much more preferable than his strategy. Spock stared back at her, “That would have been inappropriate.”

Inappropriate-nope, no, she didn’t have time to go over the intricacies of Vulcan sensibilities. The engineer pinched the bridge of her nose and counted to ten. She exhaled, “Alright, now that we’ve established that your real, how exactly did you find me? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Commander, I suggest we do this while on foot,” Lamson interrupted, scanning the jungle for any movement. It was too quiet for his liking. The wildlife had gone silent. The Vulcan tilted his head in acknowledgment, “Agreed. Ensign Greenway can you stand?”

She snorted and used a tree to the left of her as leverage up. “How do you think I got here, teleportation? Sorry,” Arty backpedalled, remembering herself and who she was talking to, “Sorry, I don’t mean to be flippant. It’s just been a long two days running in the jungle, hiding from hostiles, with no sleep and this DAMN thing in my thigh.”

“I sincerely doubt you were running,” Spock intoned, cocking an eyebrow. The engineer snorted again, except this time from amusement. “Alright, it was more like limping than running. Especially when I lost my crutch to the rapids.”

Arty took a step forward and winced, making her best effort not to shout with the recently acquired audience watching. Norton moved a branch out of her way and regarded her skeptically, “Rapids?”

“Yeah,” the blonde gritted through an abortive scream, “I had to jump in to get away yesterday. I wouldn’t recommend doing it. I know I’ll never look at log flume rides the same again.”

Lamson, taking pity on her, grabbed a thick sturdy branch off the ground and thrust it towards the engineer. If he wasn’t so injured himself, or needed for security, he’d have offered his shoulder for support. But for now she’d have to carry herself. Taking the gnarled thing off his hands she nodded, “Thanks.”

“It would appear, Ensign, your experience has been much more troublesome than our own,” Spock stated, eyes shifting towards her for a moment before returning to the forest landscape, “As to your earlier query at approximately O’eight hundred we overheard phaser fire 2.35 clicks away from temporary base camp. Logically we went to investigate. Wherein we found a party of men hunting for an individual throughout the jungle. The team and I were planning to overtake them for their aircraft when they abruptly left. Calculating the men were likely to be found in the location of who they were tracking we endeavored to arrive first. Having no idea it was indeed yourself they were hunting for.” 

“So you weren’t…,” Arty furrowed her eyebrows, “you weren’t looking for me.”

The two human men gazed ahead guiltily, one more so than the other. The Vulcan on the other hand appeared unperturbed by the crack of emotion in her voice. “It was not a reflection on you as a person. Statistically we had no reason to believe you survived-.”

“No,” Arty interrupted, “I understand. I get that.”

“From the inflection in your voice I do not-”

“Commander Spock, I understand. It was the logical conclusion.”

However just because it was logical didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Arty understood, she did. The needs of the many out weighed the needs of the few. She was the few. It would have been illogical to waste resources and time on an endeavor that was statistically likely a bust. It just…hurt. Hurt that they didn’t even try.

Not one usually to care for awkward silences she was tempted to let it stew and hang on the heads of her coworkers. Except then that would give the blonde ample time to focus on dark thoughts, ones that had pestered her during her exile at the Archive, that would only sour her mood further. It was time to prove she could be useful. That she was necessary. Maybe then someone would check on her next time, even if the odds were not in her favor for survival. Arty pointed to the phaser in Norton's hand.

“You wouldn’t happened to have lifted those weapons from the men hunting me did you? Cause if that’s the case had them over.”

“Listen, while I’m sure you got passible marks at target practice this is a real-.”

Arty groaned exaggeratedly, “I don’t want to fire the damn thing Norton, I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’m blind without my glasses. Just hand it over.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m an engineer,”  She stated extending her hand out, “who needs to safely remove the tracking implants installed in your phasers.”

Reluctantly he handed over the gun. Arty immediately popped open the bottom and started carefully moving parts around, mindful of the rain falling overhead. Water plus electronics do not mix. 

A hot breath wafted over the back of her neck she  jumped, almost pulling an important component out. Turning her head slightly found one Vulcan watching over her shoulder. “Sir?”

He opened his mouth, but whatever he had to say died the second phaser fire exploded around them. Fuck. Lamson was right to be vigilant. They didn’t get all the bastards. Not that it seemed to matter much because the aforementioned officer downed the assailant in one shot. “Sir, we need to leave this area,” he growled, “now.”

That was a conundrum in of its self. They all knew. Arty saw the quick glances to her leg. She wouldn't be able to keep up. The engineer would be left behind once more. She understood…she understood. The needs of the-, “Gah!”

The blonde suddenly found herself hoisted up into the air, nestled between two strong arms and a well defined chest. A chest she didn’t want to personally know was in fact as well defined as it looked. “What are you doing!?”

Careful of her leg, Spock began to hurtle through the dense foliage, the other officers taking up his flank. “What is sensible at this juncture. My physiology allows me to lift three times the amount of a human, thus I can easily account for your weight without becoming exhausted. I will do so till we are out of perceivable danger.”

While that was all very reasonable, an unreasonable thought went thru her mind in response. Later she would recall Vulcan touch telepathy, but at that moment it was but a faint memory.

_Is that Vulcan code for fat?_


	7. Chapter Seven: Abandon all ye

**_ _ **

 

 

 **_Stardate 2259.63_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: The colony of New Hope_

_Crack!_

“You stupid-” _Squelch,_ “piece of Klingon,” _thwack,_ “shit almost killed,” _Whack,_ “our ticket,” _crunch_ , “out of here!!”

VanStatten stomped his foot viciously onto the motionless lump bleeding on the floor. This man of nondescript quality, ordinary and plain, adorn in hand-me-down suits and chuffed dress shoes, exuded a quality, a presence one wasn’t to liken to his character at first glance. Predator. Those in the room with him averted their eyes, holding their tongues lest he turn his attentions toward them. Not that it saved Joe any. He got the boot. Literally.

When searching for the Starfleet woman Joe overheard her proclaim herself an engineer, then took it upon himself to shoot and subdue her. Only he forgot to set his phaser to stun. Not only did they get away and rendered the rest of the men inert, but had Joe’s aim been true, VanStatten would have lost his only chance of getting out of that Podunk colony before christmas. By then he wanted to be sipping a cardassian sunrise on Risa, not slumming it in city hall. The only livable place after the culling.

“Greg,” VanStatten snapped his fingers insistently to his right hand man, “Round everyone up. I want that jungle scoured. Tell the men anyone who brings back the engineer, _alive,_ gets Joe’s cut. And that there’s an additional bonus in it for anyone who finds her by end of day.”

The hook nosed man nodded solemnly and left. The others trailed after him, desperate to put distance between themselves and their boss. “Wait,” VanStatten called out gesturing to the body, “Grab this thing and put it with the others. This place stinks enough as it is.”

 

 **_Stardate 2259.63_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO_

_Fire. Screaming. Pain. My fault, my fault, my fault._

“She’s not looking too good.”

Spock mentally jolted free of the inadvertent telepathic contact. While he normally was the epitome of control, a brief slip of skin on skin had pulled up the psi-null woman's surface thoughts. Vivid, thick, and tumultuous emotions. He would need meditation at the first available opportunity. His walls were not as they should be. Especially if someone as psychically inept as a human could manage to get past them.

 The Vulcan glanced down at the panting ensign shivering in his arms, eyes focusing in and out of deliriousness. “It is likely her wound has become infected from her prior contact with the river,” he informed Officer Lamson, “Though from her earlier statement that we were hallucinations, I believe she was already aware of her condition.”

“Y-yes and n-no,” Arty spoke up, blinking through the haze, teeth chattering. Only to be sucked back into her feverish delirium before any further explanation was given. It was a troubling occurrence. One that started two hours into their long trek to base camp. Six hours and thirty seven minutes later and her condition was deteriorating. Thankfully Spock, as a Vulcan, had yet to tire from the burden, as it had been deemed unwise to make her walk in her current state. As she had already attempted to fight off an apparition that wasn’t there, the female couldn’t be trusted to not wonder off in an episode.

A whimper alerted him that she would soon be plagued once again with fever induced specters. It was becoming common occurrence. In attempt to swat at something nonexistent, her hand accidentally brushed against his face. He almost stumbled from the mental barrage lodged at him. It invaded his senses in unintelligible snippets. Images and voices flashed before him.

_My fault, my fault, my fault. A man scathingly whispered in her ear, ‘this is how things are going to work, babe.’ ‘Get out of the way!! Move.’ ‘What did you do!? What did you do!!’ Callous hands touching where they were unwanted. ‘So in exchange for my generous silence your going to keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut tight about what I did.’ Fire, so much fire. It burns, it burns, make it stop, make it stop. My fault, my fault, my fault. A crooked smile sneered at her from a doorway. ‘If you think this is bad it can get sooo much worse.’ I should have saved them. I should have saved them. ‘Freak!’_

And just as quickly the moment had run it’s course. Later, much later, in the confines of his quarters Spock would realize why it was so easy to fall into the ensigns mind. But at that moment, all he could secretly feel was relief upon seeing a dilapidated green house being swallowed up by the encroaching jungle flora. They had reached base camp. And with it the removal of the emotional human unintentionally assaulting his shields.

However as he stepped through the broken pane of glass, he also found himself perturbed. Spock was aware he’d witnessed bits and pieces of the engineering explosion that had resulted in Greenways demotion. And yet there was a strangeness about it he just couldn’t pin point. A resulting wrongness that echoed afterward. As if the truth had been subverted. It was worth later inquiry.

Once they reached a small circle, of sleeping gear and makeshift cover, Officer Lamson suddenly appeared with the remainder of there medical supplies. Which were far and few to begin with. Norton paled upon realizing what was to happen next, promptly excusing himself from the immediate vicinity, “I’ll go do a perimeter check. Make sure we have no surprises.”

Not even bothering to wait for acknowledgement he speedily disappeared behind tall and non-native trees. Though he wasn’t likely to receive one as the other men were to preoccupied to give it. Instead invested in gently lowering Ensign Greenway onto a bright blue piece of tarp, scavenged from the crash site. Systematically placing the supplies in a line the security officer went to unwrap the orange tie down from around Arty’s leg, unlocking the winch. With each layer removed, another bit of angry pussing red skin was revealed puckered around the protrusion in her thigh. It didn’t look promising. In fact it looked down right terrifying. They definitely didn’t have the proper equipment to treat such an injury. All they could really do were stop-gap measures at that point. Possibly buy some time. And make her comfortable at worst. Which would be a difficult task, considering the lack of pain killers.

“You will need to irrigate the wound, mindful of the rebar as further removal may cause irreparable damage or death,” Spock instructed his subordinate, “Use the alcohol as a cleaning solution. Once finished redress the wound. I shall assist should the ensign resist.”

Lamson grimaced. This wouldn’t be pleasant. To all parties involved. Grabbing a relatively sharp piece of metal, as all laser scalpels were toasted from the EMP, the security officer poured a generous amount of the sterile liquid onto it. Hoping it would be enough. His hands shook as he neared the raised flesh, heat wafting off the wound and onto his fingers. Most definitely infected then.

 Steeling himself he splashed some of the alcohol onto the wound and dug into it with the other. Arty shot up with an agonized wail.

 

**_Stardate ????.??_ **

_Time was relative in the spaces between madness and truth. It was a twisty clever thing. Never letting her stay in one place for long, but always making sure she revisited the other side of that laughing coin._

_She was set ablaze, but it was a cool burn compared to the fires of tartarus. Where those she wronged waited in the flames of her failure, licking there chops in anticipation. For she visited often and frequent, and willingly gave herself to their attentions, for that is what she deserved. She robbed them of their futures. So they in turn robbed her of her sanity._

_Yet, when the torments became too much, when she wished to leave the burdens of suspended mortality, as she was no fool and knew she lay between this place and the next, a dark angel, a harbinger, would appear before her, and lead her from the fires. He would speak to her in words, and though she could not understand them, for his words were not meant for the ears of lowly mortals, they soothed her like no other. A temporary balm upon her burning soul. If this divine creature had a name it was lost to her._

_Sometimes, sometimes she would remember. A word would spill past her pale lips like wine, and her harbinger would manifest beside her. But this was not always, for he had other souls to tend to, a flock to weave his words to. So he would send to her a Red king. And this king would speak with her, if only for a while, till words would disappear, and she was plunged back unto fire._

_But he too was a busy man, with a whole kingdom to care for, so he would leave her in the company of his most trusted red knight. But his red was false, for inside he was a conflict of colors, and did not know what faction to choose. Often he would side with tartarus, encouraging her to join them. Other times he would lament his guilt at having said such dark things, and whisper for her to stay. For he is not a bad man, just a sad man, and thus leaves her to decide her own fate._

_And, when the world of men had fallen to darkness, and all have left her to be, a shadow walker is beckoned fourth. He travels with nary a sound. Small, and thin, and precious, he lies curled beside her. Where she is flame, he is ice, and she gladly lends him her warmth as he gladly responds in kind. For he is her Mowgli child. And for him she shall be his wolf mother._

_She whispers to him secret things, of pain, betrayal, and survival. He listens with wary ears, for these are now his to keep and he wouldn’t deign to share them. So a gift she bequeaths, the only thing she can spare, tethered to that mortal spot between this and that and there. A noun who is not a man, or place, or thing. A brother who is not a brother to Wilbur Wright, but shares his titles all the same. For he shall keep her Mowgli safe when day shuns the night, as he fears the men who come with that bright and unforgiving light._

_And while she urges there is nothing to fear, a man, a ruiner, a bringer of death, a keeper of painful nasty things, appears. Comes to her with teeth so sharp and vile awful jeers. That promises torment and suffering, to bring her tartarus and tears.  For her dark angel has abandoned her, no king or knight left in his stead. Left her unto this wary fate. When she was probably better off dead._

 

 **_Stardate 2259.66_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: an abandoned jungle greenhouse_

“Mowgli…”

“She’s talking to herself again,” Officer Norton mumbled unnerved, curling further into his sleeping bag. Though sleep was an abstract concept by that point. Between the storms, the strange noises emanating from the forest, sharp, foreign and alien, and Ensign Greenways deteriorating state, it was difficult thing to achieve. Well, if you were human that was.

 Lamson glanced at the other man from his post, before returning to his night watch, “She was lucid for a few seconds. Enough to tell me it was a nightmare and not to worry. I don’t think she remembered she was sick.”

“I hate the waiting. I feel like we should be doing something,” Norton grumbled, “but I know waiting is all we can do. Wait to be rescued that is. Cause those men are all over the place looking for us with phasers, and they’re not set to stun. But the longer we wait the higher chance the bad guys find us and the worse she gets.”

“Thought you were from the group that wasn’t too fond of her,” Lamson snorted. Which was an understatement. Most of the crew had taken to keeping a blind eye to the going ons surrounding Greenway’s current commission, but even then. You heard things. People were still too filled with anger, from everything that happened with Nero, and they were redirecting. The ensign made an easy target for that rage. Everyone forgot, no one would have died had the Romulan not sought revenge. Something a select few were now intent on doing themselves. Just repeating the cycle.

While that mistake had killed people, good people, it was just that, a mistake. There was nothing malicious about it. Lamson believe in the system. And the system already weighed judgement. Stripping Greenway of her rank and position, that she was likely never to rise back up again.

While he abhorred bullying, he couldn’t do anything unless he caught them in the act, and even then she would need to press charges. Something he doubted she would do as the ensign had yet to even report the bullying already going on. Lamson still heard whispers though. He knew the other security officer ran with the ringleaders of that group. Maybe the kid wizened up, and realized an eye for an eye makes the world go blind. Then again, even at the end, Nurse Childs hadn’t.

“Just cause I don’t like her, doesn’t mean I want to watch her die,”  Norton answered, “I’d prefer she just quit Starfleet and go home. This is just…I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“My Jungle child…” the delirious woman spoke into the darkness. The humans watched her back, drenched with sweat and grime, shivering pitifully. Yeah, it wasn’t the nicest of fates. In all likelihood they _were_ watching her die. The woman couldn’t keep any food down, not that the humans could blame her, protein nibs could hardly be called food, and despite having cleaned her injury, infection had already sunk it’s teeth into her. The argument to put her out of her misery had already circled around and been denied. It was a weak argument at best. Norton admitted he wouldn’t have been able to follow through with it anyway. So, if she died, she died, but on her terms. It was up to her to hang on till help arrived.

“Stay…stay… Mowgli,” Arty reasoned with some imaginary phantom before her. The Commander, who had otherwise been occupied in meditation, retracted from his mind. It was the third night in a row she had mentioned the name. He was aware it came from the protagonist of the classical Terran Literature, the jungle book. His mother had read it to him once. Amanda had taken it upon herself to read him many illogical Terran novels as a child, before he was aware of how unVulcan it was to do so, and had asked her to stop. If he could feel regret, that would be one of his many.

It was why Spock was compelled to investigate, though logically he knew she only spoke to air. Imagine his surprise, if one could perceive surprise from his features, as he approached the ensign to see, in the darkness of the early morning, a dark shape curled into her torso. Something easily missed by the human eyes of his subordinates. Had this creature been drawn in by her heat every night with them none the wiser?

Moving to draw his pilfered weapon the other officers instantly went on alert. Only Spock aborted the action when two wide brown eyes stared at him in fear. Never had anything looked up so fearfully at him, save his mother, right before… 

It was a boy, no more than six, watching from behind the ensign. With wild tangled black hair, covered in dirt and leaves, Spock could see how a delusional woman would liken him to Mowgli. But that was were fantasy ended. In reality he was not a healthy child. No, the boy was severely emaciated, wasted to nothing more than skin and bones, and it was a disturbing site to witness. More disturbing it was quite clear the child had been living in the jungle for more than a few months by the level of mange he’d accrued.

As the dawn began to break, and little beams of light filtered through the canopy, the security officers were finally able to catch site of what their commander was staring at.  Norton cursed and almost retched, scaring the boy. He scampered off. 

Or he tried to, when Arty’s hand shot out to grab his arm, somehow having enough strength, of mind and body, to keep him there. “Safe…safe…”

“Ensign Greenway is correct. We mean you no harm,” the Vulcan stated, “I am Commander Spock of the Starship _Enterprise_ , these are security officers Lamson and Norton. May I inquire as to your name.”

The boy stopped struggling to leave, but did not answer, his eyes never wandered away from the men. Instead he hunched down next to the woman and pulled something wrapped, in what could only be the tattered remains of his shirt, to his chest. For one horrifying moment they wondered if it were an infant, but dare not check lest they scare him off by approaching. But they did need to check. To assuage that fear. Surprisingly it was the Vulcan who attempted to gain the boys trust. Though he went about it the wrong way.

 “We were sent by Starfleet to assess the condition of the colony when they could not be hailed. Upon arrival we were shot down in orbit with no provocation. Currently we are being hunted by men in the jungle. Are you aware of as to how they are affiliated with the colony-,” Spock halted as the child began to weep. Big fat glopping tears rained down his face as he sobbed into the thing held between his arms. The Security members were clearly distressed, they wished to help, but were conflicted with touching his skin. Spock would find it ironic he was the one left to deal with yet another emotional human, if irony wasn’t such an illogical and misused concept.

“Please explain your response.”

The other cognizant officers glared at the commander for his callousness. However they offered up no soothing words themselves. Not that they had the time.

_VWOOOSH!! VWOOOSH!! VWOOOSH!!_

Above them leaves fell, like wet plopping missiles, moved by an invisible force. The boy quieted instantly, wet eyes watched the sky in terror. The jungle fell to silence.

“Commander we have incoming.”

“I am aware Officer Norton,” Spock answered, mind racing with probabilities and statistics, “I approximate they have landed .231 clicks from our current location. I surmise we have minutes before we are inevitably found.”

“What do we do then? Ensign Greenway’s not mobile-”

“We will have to leave her behind.”

Both security officers looked horrified at the prospect, “SIR!” 

“This is not a decision I make lightly,” Spock informed. It was the logical choice. If they were to move the ensign she would not make the trip. More likely to succumb to the infection. However if left behind, there was a high possibility she would receive the medical attention needed.

 “Weighing all the variables, and information obtained, I have determined that out of us all, she is the only candidate they would attempt to capture alive. As a female she would be perceived as easier to control and torture for information. And as an engineer she is valuable to them.”

“You expect us to leave her to that,” Officer Lamson growled, “They’ll just hurt her. They won’t know she’s an engineer!?”

“I believe they heard her state her profession a few days previous. It was why we were so overzealously attacked soon after.”

“If you’re wrong-”

“It is a 84.57 percent chance that I am right.”

“If you’re wrong-”

“Are you questioning my orders Officer?”

Lamson seemed as if he had eaten a lemon, lips pursed and red faced, so conflicted he was with his choice,“SH-Dammit! Norton grab the kid and lets go.”

The other man appeared sick, but from leaving an officer behind to be tortured or at the thought of having to touch the child was anyones guess. “What? But why me-”

“Just do it!”

Easier said than done, as the Child held no such notion to leave the woman’s side. He ran around her as if in a strange game of keep away, as Norton failed to catch him. The other Security officer had enough of the mans weak attempt, and put a stop to it by cutting the kid off, hoisting him up off the ground. He struggled but was far to weak to break free. The four of them, after grabbing what they could, shot off into the wild jungle once more. Towards the colony yet away from their pursuers. Trying as they could, not to glance back, as to do so would break their resolve.

The rain begun to pitter patter once more, weeping to the forest floor. Alone, in the abandoned building, Arty lay where she was left. Aware but unaware. Waiting for something she couldn’t comprehend. _Snap!_

“I fou-”

Phaser fire struck out at a man hanging in the entrance, cutting off whatever he had to say. In his place, another man, a sneakier man, stepped over his corpse and let out a sharp whistle. “Over here you numbskulls!!”

He sauntered over to the woman, who was a pathetic mess to behold, he almost laughed. _This is the bitch who evaded my men_ , he thought to himself. Obviously he needed better men.

Leaves crunched under the wake of scuffed shoes that kicked out to make sure his prize was in fact still alive. The resulting groan was answer enough. He scrutinized her with a cold shrewd eye. “You’ve given me a lot of trouble Starfleet whore. Enough that I just had to come out looking for you myself. Lucky me, because now I get to keep Joes cut. And lucky you, because we get to have all sorts of fun together. Oh! But where are my manners. So excited I was to meet you I forgot myself. We haven’t even been properly introduced. I’m Arges VanStatten, the proprietor of this here venture. And you work for me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Arty's delusional moment seemed adequate and not corny. Cause fever writing is hard. She'll be more with it next chapter, for that's when things get interesting. And all is revealed :D Also sorry for any errors. I write during the wee hours of the morning, so I tend to overlook things.


	8. Chapter Eight: The Fate of Argo

**_ _ **

 

 **_Stardate 2259.67_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: The colony of New Hope_

“She gonna live?”

Doctor Patel scrubbed his jaw and peered down at the unconscious woman lying on the outdated Biobed. To be honest he wasn’t sure, so he said as much. 

“I believe so. Fevers gone and her vitals, though slightly higher than normal, have stabilized, but that doesn’t mean shit,” the bedraggled man argued from his corner of the room, “I’m a veterinarian, not an actual human doctor, there are so many things that could go wrong. I barely got that rebar out and the wound cleaned and sealed before she crashed. Damn lucky I managed to bring her back, but she’s not where I’d like her to be. There wasn't nearly enough supplies to properly heal her, so I’m warning you now, don’t jar her leg, if it reopens she’s as good as dead. We have no more working menders.”

Patel resisted the urge to glare at the other man. To be honest the only reason the doctor was alive was due to his limited medical background and he knew this. He was told as much when dragged from his home at gun point all those months ago. He held no illusions. The minute VanStatten could leave this dirt ball he would have him killed. Like a dog in the street. Though he feared the fate of the Starfleet officer would be far worse. 

Patel had seen the way the other mans eyes had raked over her form when her clothes had been removed and her skin washed. It was the eyes of a starved man. A calculating man. He would save her from that fate if he could. Hopefully her dying prematurely would be enough deterrent for now.

Arges scoffed as if he could hear the doctors thoughts. He circled the vulnerable woman like the shark wearing human skin that he was. The only thing between him and his prey a thin white sheet. The sharp man trailed a hand down her arm to gripat her fingers in emphasis, “She’s an engineer. I’ll just have her fix the menders before we get to talking about our philosophical differences.”

Giving that hand a bone grating squeeze he let go to smile widely to the doctor. Patel shuddered in revulsion, “You’d have her fix them just so you could torture her?”

“Torture, foreplay, it’s really all the same thing. Now wake her up,” VanStatten urged, fingering the surgery utensils on the tray beside her, “Lucy has some ‘splaning to do.”

Oh god, he couldn’t leave the poor woman to that. To this monster hiding in plain clothing. He’d seen first hand the utter cruelty and savagery wrought by this one ambitious prospector. Watched as it corrupted a community and twisted others into committing unspeakable acts. No. There had to be something Patel could do. Perhaps he could stall, then wake up the officer later and come up with a plan. She must be trained for situations like the one they were currently in. He just had to make up an excuse. 

“I don’t think that’s wise,” the doctor informed, “I don’t know her medical history and she could be allergic to any number of-”

“AHHHHHHHHHH,” the Starfleet officer shot up with a scream as VanStatten picked up one of the laser scalpels and stabbed her in the thigh. Patel looked on horrified.

“SIR!!”

“What the- what the fuck,” Arty cried, hands shakily hovering around the instrument in her _good_ leg, pulling the sheet up and around her,” Gah!”

The blonde pulled it out before thinking, blood steadily dripped to the floor, and held the scalpel out like a weapon. Pointing it toward the strange men she found in the strange room with her, she shook it at them with wide confused eyes. “Who are you!? Where the hell am I? What the hell did you do to me!? Where’s my uniform!? Hey! Don’t you fucking come near me!!”

The man with the dead stare just smiled wider and threw something onto her lap. A mender thumped down. “Fix it or you’ll bleed out. Which doesn’t matter much to me, but your friends are going to need it later and we have no engineers. So if you want one or two of them to die then, by all means, don’t. I’ve still got spares.”

She eyed him warily, searching for any clear lines of deception, but found none. Not that she could when they were blurry humanoid lumps. She shifted the sheet higher, “How do I know you have them?”

“You don’t, but then again if I captured you, don’t you think I’d have the others. After all, they wouldn’t just leave you behind.”

They would, Arty reasoned, they had before, but she couldn’t chance the possibility the man before her was being truthful. She couldn’t play with thier lives like that. Immediately she popped the bottom opened and assessed the damage. It was an easy fix, any engineer could have done it, even without the proper tools. Which meant he was being honest about the engineers at least. 

Using the laser on the scalpel she cut and rerouted the power through another circuit board. It was a temporary fix sure, but as long as stuff kept breaking there would be a reason for them to keep her alive till she could escape or was rescued. It took her all of two seconds before Arty tossed it back to the man, “There. Now get me some clothes and take me to the others.” 

VanStatten smiled at the blonde woman as if he found something she said funny, and for all she knew he did. Instead the unassuming man pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, all the while his smile crawled its way up his face. Just then, lightning flashed out the window. A sudden downpour filled the empty silence as thunder cracked overhead. Arges took a leaned forward, “How about I tell you a story instead.”

“No, thanks,” Arty frowned, scooting to the other side of the bed, “I’d rather have the clothes please.”

“Oh?! But I think you’ll like this story. Once upon a time there was an agricultural prospector meant for bigger and better things, who by happenstance, found his chance and took it,” his smile turned down right feral after that, “You see a naughty little boy stumbled upon a….”

 

 

 **_Stardate 2259.67_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: 1.83 clicks from new Hope_

_CRACKOOM!_

Lightning arced over the canopy above. What was left of the away team found themselves on the edge of a monsoon. While they had managed to avoid the circus of men tracking them all night thus far, they hadn’t counted on the weather taking a turn. With no suitable cover the colony seemed like the best place to hide and take shelter. 

However, they were still unsure if they would find safety there or more trouble. The only person who could tell them what to expect was rendered mute from whatever trauma that had left the boy abandoned in the jungles they currently trekked. Any and all attempts to communicate with him had thus far gone unanswered.

“What do you think they’ll do with ensign Greenway?”

Officer Lamson cast a furtive glance to Norton, normally patient and quiet, the situation and lack of sleep had begun to take its toll on him. “What do you think,” he growled,  “If she hasn’t succumbed to her infection she’s probably being plugged for information. In her mind state it will sound like utter gibberish, but that won’t matter to them. They’ll keep hurting her till-”

The senior security officer trailed off when a small pitiful whine reached his ears. All eyes fell to the boy in his arms who shivered and began to sob. It was hard to tell with all the rain but he was definitely crying. Shit. In his anger he’d forgotten about the kid. Lamson quickly back tracked. “I’m sure she’s fine-“

“I see no benefit in lying to the child,” Spock interrupted from up ahead, “It will not change the outcome-”

“Commander with all do respect you can’t tell a kid-”

“I believe you just did-”

“…my…f..lt…”

“I didn’t mean it-”

“QUIET! I think the kid was saying something,” Norton interrupted, pointing to the child. Everyone stopped moving. Lamson looked down at the boy as he mumbled something inaudible, “What is it? What are you trying to say?”

“It’s….m-my fault,” a small voice tried to speak up over the din. It was obviously the boys first words in a long while, his voice was ruff and croaky with disuse. “What do you mean? None of this is your fault you have to know that,” Norton answered reassuringly, drawn closer by the boys’ resounding wail. The kid was having none of that though. 

“B-but i-it is,” He gasped through tears, “I-if i h-hadn’t gone th-then they’d all be alive a-and s-so would sh-she!”

The air seemingly dropped a few degrees, as if nature herself knew what was to be said next would somehow alter everything. And not for the better. It was Spock who broke the silence. “Please clarify your statement.” 

Big brown eyes burst with an outpouring of turbulent emotions it wasn’t a mystery that they spilled fourth when they did. For such a small thing to contain so much for so long was astounding. But that dam had broken, and it wasn’t likely to be so easily repaired. Not if the force of the shuttering sobs were any indication. “I-I just w-wanted to-to find the fairies. M-Mark said they lived in j-jungles l-like in f-fern gully, b-but I wo-wouldn’t find them. I-I went lookin’ any-anyways an-and found a-” 

 

 **_Stardate 2259.67_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: The colony of New Hope_

“-cave.”

Arty furrowed her brows, “A cave?”

“Shh, shh, shh. Please, everyone hold your questions till the end,” Arges patronized. Patel realized what the other man was about to say and shuddered. For the past few months the veterinarian had been trying not to think about how he ended up alone with the vilest of people. And here, the other man was so casually brought it up as if it were but a children's bedtime story. Quickly he gripped the closest wall as his legs tried to buckle out from underneath him. If VanStatten noticed the reaction he didn’t seem to care. Though knowing him he would have reveled in it.

“Right where was I,” Arges mused, “Oh yes! A naughty little boy found a cave one day wandering the Jungle in search of fairies. Now, while this cave held no fairies it did have one thing aplenty. Bats. Fascinated by these little flying rodents he returned day after day to watch these disgusting creatures. Even going so far as to follow them deep down into the tunnel system. Until one day the little boy fell ill. His lungs had become infected with a fungus and no one knew how he got it. Had the village elders so confused as the fungus primarily came from guano, but bats were repulsed by the sonic amplifiers guarding the town from predators, so how could he have gotten sick?”

Arty began to feel as if she wasn’t going to like his story. The doctor across the room looked close to a mental breakdown from his spot. If that wasn’t telling enough the man before her gave off a dark vibe that shined through his clearly faked sunny disposition.  Nothing good ever came from people giving her that look. Yeah, Arty had a bad feeling.

VanStatten, noticing her unease, delighted in it, and crowded closer to the engineer. He stage whispered conspiratorially, “Well, terrified he was in trouble, the child immediately told them of the cave system with the pretty purple fairy stones not far from town. While he told his tale, not far from him, in another bed, a handsome prospector was getting his yearly check up. So, while the caves were quarantined and written off as useless, dangerous even, the handsome man had an alternative perspective.” 

The man paused as if for effect but for who's benefit Arty didn’t know. She did not care for his dramatics. She did not care for the underlying ominous tone of his words. Words the approaching storm outside only seemed to amplify. All she cared about was escape and her team. Neither of which she was even sure about at that moment were safe.

  VanStatten, as if there were no inner turmoil raging with the other room’s occupants, continued on with his cliche evil monologue. Though from where Arty sat he had reason to relish in his over confidence. He had caught them after all.

 “Something the boy said caught his interest,” he hummed playing with the mender, “so he went to investigate for himself. Upon entering this cave he found no purple rock but normal ones. Undeterred, he searched deeper and deeper into the system till one day he came across a proverbial gold mine. In one of the lower chambers the walls were littered with purple crystals. Care to guess what they were, hmmm?”

Arty stilled, breath frozen upon her lips, when that bad feeling came to fruition as she did know what they were. Every engineer did. Hell, every federation citizen knew. There could only be one answer, but she dare not speak it. The purple crystal was something rare indeed. And dangerous. Not just in substance but on the value placed on it by society. People would do anything for greed. Anything.

“No, alright. They were the rarest of crystals, Dilithium crystals! The man realizing his fortune, celebrated. Only, he found he couldn’t mine them himself,” Arges waved his hand dismissively. Which wasn’t far from the truth. In all likelihood he just didn’t want to do the manual labor required. Vanstatten wouldn’t get his hands dirtied by anything other than blood. 

“And set off to find help,” the smug man sang as he turned on the mender, “So he found like minded intelligent individuals to harvest them at night. Only as the days went by the handsome prospector began to realize a terrible truth. A few of the men had loose lips and rumor had begun to spread across the village. Now, he couldn’t have that now could he?! If they found out it was truth, well then, he’d have to share his profits with all the villagers. And he _really_ couldn't have that. So, in the dead of night, during the peak of a storm, the handsome prospector and his men did the only thing they could do.” 

Arges jammed the mender into Arty’s leg before she could jump away. His eyes dilated as she bit back a scream. He leaned in, so close there noses just about kissed, and his fake visage melted into something dangerous and terrifying. “They killed those standing in the way of their big payday, hacking and slashing them to death as they lay in their beds. Unfortunately,” he declared, eyes drinking in the horrified look of the woman before him, relishing in her paling complexion, “due to the unforeseen circumstance of their overzealous natures, they killed those essential to getting off this mud ball…well that is till now. To think, had we managed to silence you with the EMP we’d be waiting for the next supply ship to overtake in six months. But not now. You’re going to get us off, one way or another.”

 

 

 **_Stardate 2259.67_ ** _THE PLANET ARGO: 1.12 clicks from new Hope_

 

“I have made a grave miscalculation.”

“You think,” Norton shouted at the commander. Visibly shaking from the childlike point of view of the massacre that befell the boy’s family and home. Of how one of the murderers had moral misgivings in killing a child, when others hadn't, but held none in killing the kids parents in front of him. And then left said kid in the woods so when he died, not if, the murderer wouldn’t be _directly_ responsiblefor his death. God dammit. It was supposed to be a simple milk run, not a travesty. “You left her to homicidal maniacs who wiped out an entire colony, _while they slept_ , for a little bit of dilithium. _A little_! I don’t like her, but shit man, that’s just cruel.”

Spock bristled at the insubordination, at the implication of such statements. He was no such kind of being. Suraks teachings were clear and he had followed them since he could comprehend words. “Officer, in no way did I leave the ensign behind with the intention of doing her harm. Such deviant behavior is wholly unVulcan. If you will recall, it was done with the intent to save her life. We were all aware of the risk.”

“But you said you miscalculated!?”

“Yes,” Spock conceded, “but in no part am I to fault. We were all unaware of what had transpired. Key information was previously unavailable. I now estimate Ensign Greenways survival rate is 34.592%.” 

Lamson, who had been altogether quiet till that point, mulling over what he’d learned and calming his charge, spoke up. “Does this mean we’re going to leave her again?”

Spock paused in his response blinking. It shouldn’t be a difficult decision, and yet, his thought processes were slowed down. The topic took far longer than than it should to run through all scenarios, outcomes, and statistics. It unnerved the vulcan. What was all of a five seconds should have taken two. He looked at the men. Weary, angry, sad, horrified, terrified, and hopeful all at once, and spoke.


End file.
